These beautiful monsters
by TearsoftheFallen
Summary: "What is this?" Altair ignored him, "You brought a child with you? I thought a 'Master Assassin' was required to be smarter than this..." Malik paused and took a seat, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What are we to do with her?" he asked. Altair shook his head at the Dai and stared down at the small girl in front of him. What to do indeed. More than two OC's included.
1. Chapter 1

**_AN:  Hello! Tears here! So sorry, to everyone who's following MSoK with the Akatsuki and Jeen, I really do want to continue it but I don't seem to have a lot of compassion for it at the moment. I know it's been about two years...but I'll get to it! Don't worry guys, just keep calm and move on. _**

**_ This is a fan fiction for Assassin's Creed. There will not be any AltairXMalik in this fanfction and there will be an OC involved with the entire plot. I'm trying to get the characters as spot on to their original personalities as I possibly can, but since I'm not so used to profiling yet I think I'll get better at it throughout this story._**

**_ Just to let you guys know, though, I plan to finish this one slowly since I really do like how this is going on in my head :D I hope you guys enjoy this! I know I do. Let me know what you guys think and I'll get the next chapter up soon. Thanks! Stay chill~ ;)  
_**

* * *

The silence droned on, broken only by his sharper breaths and the occasional stone on hoof made by his brilliant white horse. His heavy equipment and layered clothing made the heat almost unbearable, his horse wasn't faring too well either. It was one of those days, a day that made Altair wish he was back home, if he could even call it that, with his brothers. Some sparring and maybe a tournament or two didn't seem that bad, actually. But, sadly, he had wave after wave of missions given to him by Al Mualim. More slave traders in Jerusalem, same thing in Damascus; more traitors to the Brotherhood than necessary and Templar problems in other areas: these combined with the heat and irritated soldiers did not prove for a smooth and graceful trip. However, the best thing in all the tedious work was the amazing visit he'd get to pay to a certain Malik in Jerusalem's Bureau. Now, only if that were true.

The man was cheeky and sarcastic, quick to catch every flaw of his and the flaws he saw were reflected on his outlook on the man and his supposed arrogance. He held a grudge and Altair was aware of this. He did practically sentence him and his brother to death, half of that being the cruel truth, and he did come to regret his actions. He knew that he was arrogant and sloppy. Malik had every right to be entirely hateful of him, yet he still felt that sliver of friendship between them that he knew should have been stripped away the moment he proclaimed him and his brother dead.

Altair pushed the thought away and urged his horse to pick up the pace, nearing Jerusalem's stone walls and dark skies. The atmosphere reeked of population, crumbling ruins quickly coming into his view, the gates were up and guarded by the same guards in their eye popping armor, surrounded by the civilians in their own drab. He wanted to curse Allah and whatever god was out there, whatever god that would listen, but rather than stay out in the heat, he had to go spend more 'bonding time' with Malik in the shade of the Bureau and more time out in the streets with his targets.

If it rained, like the skies were suggesting, he'd be with a specific man in a specific building in a specifically irritated mood with an angry Master waiting for him back at home for the delay. Most likely at least.

His expression fell and he begged it not to rain.

He dismounted his horse and led it to makeshift stables, tying him down and making sure he was to be well fed and calm before breaking off into a jog towards the guards barring the entrance with tired looks and weak stances. He found it almost comical that people were even the slightest bit afraid of these children with knives, but he caught himself and the arrogance, stopping his mind abruptly.

With his blade, he struck.

The first to go down was the smaller of the four, his blood rushing to meet the open wound on his neck, gurgling with the strangled cries from the other soldiers; he felt bored with the same threats and curses he'd find himself with every time he'd strike.

"Infidel!"

"You won't get away!"

Altair wanted to tie them down and pull out each and every single hair on their heads; they were that annoying. Pesky, always saying the same things like rehearsed lines from a play. Again, he caught himself and his arrogance, making sure to quickly silence himself. Arrogance was a bad habit of his. Apparently.

He twisted on his heel and backhanded the nearest guard, sending him stumbling past the others and into the stone walls of the watch tower. Altair withdrew his sword swiftly and blocked an attack to his torso, parrying and kicking the offender in the gut with little effort needed to knock him off his feet and into the dirt and cobblestone pathway. The man cried out in shock, his panic and distress increasing when Altair went to pin him to the ground with a blade through his chest. His shriek ended as quickly as it had come.

But suddenly, Altair didn't have time to swing his blade to parry the attack from a Templar's fist; he was flung back, arms coming down to help him roll gracefully off path and spring to his feet again, blade ready. The Templar sneered and yelled at him in its foreign tongue of French. Or was it something else? It jeered with mock confidence and used hand gestures of some kind, and Altair was more than happy to shut him up.

Pumping with adrenaline, he slid forward in a readied stance, withdrawing his short blade and kneeling to plunge it deep into the Templar's foot, withdrawing it, and coming up to slice into his neck. Blood hemorrhaged out of the open wounds, pooling on the ground and the white coloring his uniform a darker shade red.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

The combination of pink and red that stained the cloth around his wrists barely mattered to him, being a daily occurrence, as he trudged through citizen after citizen and through the crowds, pickpocketing knives as fast as he could dispense them from thugs with their loud, obnoxious curses and worthless threats.

Loud jeers, more threats, screaming children, and enthused merchants were everywhere and around the corners with the hustling of the citizens trying to get inside before the weather betrayed them. Colorful rugs and pots and clay items decorated the stands and balconies of the merchants and civilians. Jerusalem wasn't the worst place to be, but in the midst of war it seemed like the city had drained of color.

Altair's pace quickened and he round into an alley only to collide with a child's figure, knocking it backwards and to the ground, causing him to raise an eyebrow.

He didn't really know what to do. There were no children around him back at home and when there were they were barely through their training. He'd seen plenty of children around the streets of the lower class homes with their hands out and eyes clouded with liquid, but they'd never approach him. Of course he could just always side step and forget about it, but then he'd be digging himself deeper into his hole of selfishness. And this was a child! Not a thug or begging women he'd push out of his way to get to his target. He could always say sorry and leave, yes, he'd do that.

He knelt down and pulled the child up, setting them to their feet and brushing the dirt off their shoulders.

"Sorry." He gave a small smile. He looked up and into their face. The child was young, probably about six or five with mousy hair tied back with cheap, stringy pieces of twine. Her bangs were greasy and in her face, which was covered in dirt and grime. It seemed that she was pretty much made of filth, what with her body resembling a skeleton, because bones was all that was left of her. The features on her face were sharp while still retaining whatever baby fat she had yet to lose. The cloth hanging off her shoulders was merely a makeshift dress of what seemed like a rather large sack with holes for arms that only reached to her knees with what frayed ends there were. Her eyes were hazel and droopy with what seemed like sadness or sleep and he'd bet money that she was being raised by hand with all the scratches and bruises that adorned her neck and arms, her cracked lips dry as the desert, and her cheeks as red as the sun.

She mumbled a few words and exhaled softly, he raised an eyebrow at her and rested his knee on the ground. "Where are your parents?" he asked. When she didn't respond, he sat down. "Look, girl, it's going to rain soon. Find shelter or you'll get soaked." No response. By this time, he was getting irritated and instead of testing his patience he stood up and started to walk, but stopped when his shirt was caught.

He turned and stared intently at the girl, frowning. "What? Do you want money?" She shook her head and looked up at him with warm eyes. "Are you a warrior?" she asked, and with the question her eyes seemed to sparkle.

Altair raised an eyebrow.  
"No. Why do you ask?"

"Because you have scars." She gave him a toothy smile. Such an odd answer.

"You have scars, child. Does that mean you are a warrior?" he asked with his arms at his sides. She shook her head and looked down at her feet. "No," she crossed her fingers and picked at her nails, "but my friend said that men in white robes were warriors. He also said that the guards were warriors." she grinned. He eyed her.

"Why would he tell you that?" he asked, leaning against the wall.

"Because he said that his father once told him that people who fight for something are like warriors. A-and," she stuttered, "he also said that people who are warriors have something that others don't have." she hummed. Altair stared blatantly at her and pat her head.

"Okay, okay. See you kid." he gave her an awkward smile and carried on. He thought nothing of this new acquaintance of his as he walked through the maze of alleys. All he knew, however, is that the air was growing moist.

He begged it not to rain.

* * *

It was almost midday, from what he could deduce with the lack of sun and sky, and it had yet to rain to his surprise. He was at the bureau now, resting in the courtyard with the top half of his robes hanging off his hips and his armor stripped from his person and hung inside. It was humid and warm, which was normal, but the air felt good on his bare skin.

Inside, Malik was attending to his duties as a Rafiq, writing and rewriting pieces of information and recording previously accomplished tasks, listing the new novices, and adding pieces to old maps and sorting them in the correct order by importance and usage. His boots constantly scuffled along the floor as he paced around the shop and around the courtyard when he needed something from Altair, lecturing or instructing him. The Rafiq was rather uptight since that fateful mission, but today was an exception. Today, to Altair's enjoyment, Malik was extremely persistent in his studies. He liked to watch the man scuttle for information he couldn't find, and when he did find it, he liked to watch his face change from annoyance to astonishment or happiness as he added it to whatever godly book he found himself busied with at that moment. It wasn't a great pastime, but what else did he have to do?

To surprise him, the Rafiq had slammed his book into the shelf and made his way over to the courtyard, hand at his chin and eyebrows knit together. His eyes were somewhere else as he stared down at his boots.

"Make yourself useful, novice, and fetch me some things." He muttered, lost in thought. Altair grunted and stood up, patting Malik's shoulder and slipping his arms into his robes.

"What do you require? And I suspect you have the means of purchasing these items?" he asked, slipping his boots on and fastening them on tight. Malik nodded and tossed a small bag of coins. "I need ink and a selection of herbs. I'll make a list for you, just if it so happens you forget it in that head of yours." Altair sighed and shook his head, retrieving his armor from the chair by the door.

"Such insults wound me. Tell me, did you come up with those yourself?" he gave the smallest of smiles and Malik rolled his eyes, pausing to scribble down a few words on parchment. "These are very important herbs. Don't mix them up, novice."

"Mhm. Don't-" his words were lost when the city lit up, lightning splitting the sky in half and stretching to touch the earth in a crackle of energy. When the noise faded, Altair groaned.

"It's raining." He sighed. Malik raised an eyebrow.

"Really?" Sarcasm was heavy in his voice. "I never would have thought." he rested his forearm on the counter and chuckled. Altair frowned and turned back into the courtyard.

"Safety and peace, brother."

"Safety and peace, Malik."


	2. Chapter 2

_**AN:**** Chapter 2 already? Wow. This was quick...I like this story line :D  
Next chapter will probably be mostly about the girl's past. I have to find a name for her... ;_; Man, I'm bad with names.  
TO GOOGLE! ONWARD!**_

_**OH! And have you all seen the new AC IV yet? I like how the name and story line have been made so far, pirates (I think) and all, but I miss the old characters like Altair and Malik and Ezio. On his uniform, I didn't even see the symbol, y'know? Kinda disappointing but -sigh- what can you do? Pirates :D Enjoy this next chapter!**_

_**Semi-important note at the end concerning my search for a good beta.**_  
_**Thanks and enjoy.**_

* * *

The lightning continued and so did his bad mood. Rain was water and Altair preferred to stay dry, thank you. He never found the need to learn how to swim and the feeling of being immersed in water didn't particularly appeal to him. All around him people were taking cover under awnings and heading for shop entrances, but then there was Altair and the few men and women who didn't care about the water and rather enjoyed the change from hot and dry to hot and wet. Some ways ahead, thunder boomed and lightning struck.

He narrowed his eyes and irritably stomped through the puddles towards the market, and with every step he took the rain just seemed to fall harder.

"I'm going to kill him. I'll amputate his other arm."

Why he took the errand, he didn't remember, but he was coming to question his sanity and sense of judgment with very little fervor. Altair pulled his cowel lower and glanced up at the rooftops thinking about quicker travel. If he took the opportunity he knew he'd be falling on his ass in no time, and the last time he took a chase in the rain it ended with a bloody gash on his forehead and a very sore and broken novice at his side who had started to wonder how cursed he was to be put with a master assassin with his amount of training. It was a sight to behold. At least the other assassins at the time thought so.  
He gave a small, nostalgic smile at the memory and continued to daydream. He recalled the time he went to Jerusalem with Kadar to retrieve a chest full of secrets from a Templar nest and instead came back with the chest…and a million little trinkets Kadar had found fascinating enough ; he _insisted _on showing Al Mualim, (who scolded him for wasting money and time on quote, "…worthless items with no meaning or use…") and Malik (who gave him the most ridiculous of looks that screamed of irritation and aggravation.). It wasn't that he found this particular memory funny or just plain sentimental, but the fact that reflecting on his memories taught him things. Things which he should have learned long ago or start to learn now. Things that he should learn to watch for. Altair didn't understand the brotherly bond between Malik and Kadar, he was an only child anyways, but he passed over their feelings without another thought.

He continued to enjoy his escape from reality to a point where it almost brought him face to knee with the same little girl from the same dark alley. She gave a small grunt and fell backwards, landing awkwardly in the water.

He took a small step back and looked down and stared with slight disbalief.

"Thanks." She said dismally. He blinked and knelt down, like before, picking her up from under her arms and setting her on her feet. She thanked him for real and took to wringing the water from her dress with little effort. Now that he noted it, she did seem quite strong for her age and size and she should be to be able to live out on the streets in this city. Altair's eyebrow rose again and he stood up, still watching her work.

"What's your name?" he asked, his body tense and steeled.

"I do not have one." She replied, not even bothering to look up at him and from what he could see her face held the emptiness of a dead corpse, but he felt no pity. His eyebrows knit together. "How old are you?" She shrugged. "…where do you live?" She let her arms fall to her sides when she was finished and looked up at him with a small smile. Altair pat her head and started to walk towards the market again. "I travel." She mumbled, jogging behind him to keep up, almost like his own child. Altair glanced back at her and continued with a more quickened pace, hoping she would fall behind. When the footsteps resumed he took a deep breath and turned on his heel and folded his arms.

"Why do you insist on following me?" his voice was deep and hushed. The girl cocked her head to the side and smiled warmly at him through her bangs. "We're friends aren't we?" He frowned and uncrossed his arms, flashing his hidden blade and replying with a hard tone. "No, we are not." She didn't even blink. He turned again and continued with his normal pace and his frown deepened when the footsteps continued. He turned again, kneeling. "Look," His hands gripped her shoulders firmly, "I don't know why you insist on following me, but maybe you would like to get out of the rain and find a nice, dry place to crawl into instead of being so out in the open." He said in a forced, sweet tone. "Or else you'll find that bad people would like to use little girls like you for bad stuff." She shook her head and held out her hand. "What's your name, mister?" Altair's efforts were clearly in vain as his eyes visibly narrowed when he released her. "Good. Bye." He continued once more down the path, but when the footsteps resumed he went for the roof of the nearby building, launching himself up the crates and onto the window before vaulting up to the top. When he looked down, all of his thoughts scattered because there was the same girl, frail and wet and shivering, climbing up the crates and scrambling to awning to awning for the exact same window.

"Hey!" He shouted. "Get down from there, kid-" and down she fell. Her hands cushioned her fall and the knees had buckled to absorb the shock, but her elbows scraped the splintered wood and propelled her down to the dirt where she settled for a moment, shocked and bewildered. But after a short moment, she pushed herself up and grasped the crates again, getting to the final awning and desperately reaching for the window, succeeding, and holding her grip. Altair watched with an irritated expression and at the same time so did the civilians that were looking out their windows at the girl and himself. He didn't exactly care about them since they weren't anything worth caring about, that is, until the guards started to appear. And they were something to worry about.

Rain and a nuisance. Clearly, some deity was out for his neck.

In the short amount of time he was given he hung himself over the edge and hauled the girl up and into his lap and scrambled backwards with her in his arms like a newborn child. He jumped up and regained his balance with the sound of laughter ringing in his ears.

The rain was still pouring down in buckets as he leapt from the previous roof to the next and so on with the girl in his arms looking around wildly in excitement with bright pink cheeks and wide eyes, brown dirty locks sticking to Altair's robes that whipped around with every hot gust of wind.

The guards followed closer than he had expected even with the slowed pace he'd taken with his added weight. Lightning split the sky and lit up the city for moments at a time as the master assassin made his way around the guards and towers, and after a while, a few of the guards had given up their chase and retired to the awnings below out of the rain. With the bureau in his sights, he quickly found himself searching for hiding spots and extra guards.

With the child hugged tightly to his chest, her head buried in his shoulder, Altair jumped off of the roof with an immense amount of air, where he performed what was probably the worst leap of faith in the history of all assassins, and landed messily into the hay, concealing them both. The girl squirmed and he used his arms to pin her to his person, covering her mouth with his hand. "Shh." He glanced at her when the skies light filtered in. The guards came and went with their shouts of anger and disappointment, but he sat there for a moment to catch his breath and contemplate his next moves. He could always take her back to the bureau, he had no choice really, but was he seriously willing to risk such a thing just for the sake of an innocent? Probably. Anything to get out of the rain. Altair released his grip on the girl and climbed out, glaring at his uniform made wet hay and dripping armor; his eyes narrowed at the hindrance now climbing out after him and brushing the hay off her arms. "Come here." He sighed. She walked up to him with no fear, no hesitation, no awkwardness, and looked up at him with bright excited eyes.

He picked her up and slung her on his back where she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. With his arms now free, he used them to wipe down his uniform and latch onto the building's wall like and in no time, the two were up on the roof but still in the rain. With things more relaxed now, he gripped her legs and walked peacefully towards the bureau's entrance with silent thoughts of what Malik would think when he'd enter….if he decided Altair would live that long. Then again, Malik had always been emotionally attached to his younger brother, so what if seeing this girl triggers something like those feelings he had had? It wouldn't be as bad he'd figured.

"Hold on." He yelled so she could hear him over the thunder. The girl tightened her grip around his neck and Altair jumped down into the courtyard. "Ow." She mumbled, looking at her elbows and watching beads of red drip onto Altair's robes. He rolled his eyes and let her off his back. "That's barely anything." She looked up at him and knit her eyebrows in confusion. "I can get worse?" He nodded and opened the door, leading her inside. Thankfully, Malik wasn't in his usual spot at the counter. His books weren't even out, instead stacked in a corner and in their respectful places on the shelves. "Make sure you are quiet. I'll be right back, stay here." He pointed at her then to the chair by the shelves where he expected she was to sit and stay quiet. As he shut the door and walked behind the counter to rummage through the neatly arranged stock, he failed to note the new presence coming up from behind him with as much skill and precision as he would care to admit to anyone, let alone himself.

"Dammit, Malik, where is it?"

"Where is what, dumbass novice?" Altair glanced up at Malik who was leaning against the arch that led into the back rooms, his usual Rafiq robes replaced with the regular drab of any civilian. "The medicine. The medicine and bandages." Malik rolled his eyes and removed a chest from beside a stack of parchment. "Is this," he opened it, "what you are looking for?" Altair glared at him from under his hood and took the chest from his possession to rummage through viles and threads. Malik smirked. "How is it you manage to hurt yourself on such a small errand? Are you that much-"

"Malik."

The Rafiq halted and turned to look at Altair who had gracefully side stepped him and headed for the girl watching silently from the corner's chair. The moment his eyes found hers he rounded on Altair. "What is this?" Altair ignored him. "You brought in a beggar child? I thought a 'master assassin' was required to ignore their feelings, perhaps?" Altair refrained from insults as he knelt down to inspect the girl's elbows. Malik sighed and came to sit next to him, giving up with his argument.  
He looked up at her and gave her a warm smile.  
"She's like a female, more beautiful version of you, Altair." Altair's head snapped to the side, eyes curious and confused. Malik pretended not to notice.

"What's your name?" he asked, taking her other arm in his hands and inspecting the scrapes. She didn't move or smile, just stared at him in silence. Altair raised an eyebrow at her and poked her shoulder. "Is she deaf?" Altair glanced at Malik. "No. Shy, I suppose." Malik nodded in understanding and rose to his feet. "I'll find her some clothes. What are we to do with her?" Altair said nothing and Malik gave him one last look before disappearing into the back room.

Altair sighed and dabbed at the scrapes with a wet cloth pausing to glace up at his patient who, in turn, smiled at him with closed eyes.

What to do, indeed.

* * *

_**Whadda ya know. So, in regards to betas, I'm looking for someone who would look for grammar and spelling. I don't try to make many mistakes in grammar and spelling, but when I do it's because I overlooked them. I'm rather sensitive to constructive criticism and such, but I could use tips on how to make the flow of my paragraphs and dialogue blend together better. I am very sensitive so...keep in mind that I can't handle some criticism. But if you're willing to send me a message, I'd be grateful!  
Thanks so much for reading! And thank you to those who have added me to their favorites and thanks to the reviews 3  
See you next chapter.  
**_

_**Stay chill~.**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**AN:**__** I'm sorry that this one is shorter :( I've been in school all day and I was ITCHING to finish it. THEY FINALLY NAME HER! :D How exciting!  
Well, enjoy this chapter~.**_

* * *

Her wounds were bandaged and her body was practically swallowed by the borrowed robes. She was in one of the extra rooms, sound asleep on a pile of pillows and blankets with the window open, letting the warm air waft in with a peaceful effect. In the courtyard, Malik was hanging mats onto the walls after Altair had taken the chance to remove the water. Sunlight streamed through the clouds and foliage above their heads. Malik cleared his throat, but Altair pretended not to hear and continued to wring the mat's water into the bucket in front of him.

"What possessed you to bring her here?" Malik asked, tossing a pillow into the shop after shaking it clear of all water. When he got no answer he cleared his throat and tried again. "Are you deaf?" he bent down and picked up another pillow, chucking it harshly towards the back of Altair's head. The pillow landed with a soft thump in the puddle behind him. Altair dropped the mat, picked up the bucket of water and whipped around to soak the Rafiq, his face passive.  
"What was that?" he smirked.

Malik growled and chucked another pillow into the shop. "I said," he stomped up to him, "What the hell were you thinking when you brought her here?"

Altair dropped the bucket and picked up another mat.

"You put the life of an innocent in danger!"

Altair growled and spun around."She followed me." He threw the mat down and exhaled. "She followed me and I would have left her but there was a problem with the guards."

Malik groaned and rubbed his temple. Of course there would be an incident with the guards. Of course there would be a problems. The man was barely an assassin with all the trouble that trailed behind him constantly and when he did succeed to get through something without a problem he somehow managed to screw it up anyways.

"Idiot novice."

"Malik."

"What."

"I'm sorry."

A pause. "I know."

"No, you don't." he turned towards the bucket and looked towards the fountain, focusing on the water and making sure to reject all of his instincts to become the same arrogant man he'd been ever since word got around about his skill.

"I'm sorry for what happened to Kadar." Then there was silence. Altair turned around to stare at Malik's back. He knew what he did was wrong and stupid; he knew that he had made a mistake, everyone had told him he had, but the point was that Malik shouldn't still be upset. It wasn't all entirely his fault, and Malik should know that he also played a part in his brother's death. Kadar was too young for that mission and Malik knew it. It wasn't Altair that allowed for his brother come. It wasn't Altair that convinced Al Mualim to let him become part of the mission. But without Kadar to take the fall, Malik would have died in his place and it would be Kadar who'd be mourning. And not Malik. "Malik, answer me." He didn't get a reply. So without another word, he turned around once more, guarding himself from the world.

Time passed and the sky got darker. When she woke up, it was around late afternoon. Malik was lingering by the counter, unsure of what to make out of the maps he was studying, and Altair was still tending to the mats and pillows since the novices were doing their daily training exercises. The streets were filled again with civilians and guards, they could hear the shouts and threats of the thugs. If it had rained before there was no sign of it now. The heat had aided with the evaporation of water and it was still muggy, regardless of what time it was. There were no traces of clouds either.

The girl opened her door as quietly as possible and slipped out in borrowed white robes that swept the ground. Her hair was disheveled, still caked with dirt, and her hands rubbed tiredly at her eyes. She passed through the hallways and towards the counter where Malik was working. He looked down at her and smiled warmly.

"Good afternoon." he said, jotting down a few notes.

"Feeling better?" She nodded up at him and stayed quiet.

Malik nodded and closed his book with a sigh. "I don't like waking up either. Are you looking for Altair?"

She shook her head and peered at a few books on the shelf that she could see. "What are they about?" she asked, fingering the binding of a fragile looking leather book. Malik glanced down at her and then at the book.

He took the book in his hand and set it on the counter, wiping off the dust and peering at the small scripture of the first page. "This? It's just about Jerusalem's creation and history up until now...nothing all that interesting, but this one," he pulled a scroll from the shelf above, "is about Masyaf."

She looked curiously at him, then at the scroll. "What's Masyaf?" she asked, fingering though the leather book. He gave it to her and had her open it, on the left there was a small, detailed sketch of the fortress.  
"Masyaf is the base of the Levantine Assassins," he pointed out another smaller sketch,  
"which is currently run by our Mentor, Al Mualim." He smiled, happy to give out information.

Altair stepped into the room and glanced at Malik, not seeing the smaller form behind the counter. "What are you doing?" he asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

Malik shook his head. "Talking. Or has that slipped your mind too?" he asked, handing the girl the scroll and straightening up.

Altair scoffed and unfastened his boots. "Is she still asleep?" he asked, slipping them off and setting them by the door. Behind the counter, she stifled a sharp laugh and clutched the scroll to chest.

Malik smirked and nudged her with his foot. Altair raised an eyebrow and made his way towards him. "Is she back there?" he asked. Malik shook his head, but Altair had already circled around to glare at the girl with the scroll. "This place is not for messing around." he scolded. She nodded and handed the scroll back to Malik, pouting.

He nodded, satisfied. "Your clothes have been washed by the novices. You're going to change and you'll be coming with me back to where I found you."

Malik shot him a look and slipped behind the counter with a sigh. "You don't know how to talk to children, Altair." He looked at the girl and sympathized. She looked confused and scared. The sudden shock was still fresh and Altair didn't care. Not at all. "You haven't changed at all, you selfish ass."

Altair sighed irritably and rubbed at the back of his head "Do you remember what your name is yet?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Well," Altair said, "if we're going to keep talking you'll need a real name."

She nodded and wrung her hands together nervously.

Malik glanced at her and back at Altair. He compared their eyes and hair and body stature. Each detail seemed to be perfectly sculpted from Altair to her like they were family. "She really does look like you." He mumbled, taking out a few scrolls out from under the counter. "What do you suppose on naming her?"

He opened his mouth to answer but Malik cut him off. "Don't be stupid about it."

Altair rolled his eyes. What did he think he'd name her? What could be worse than Malik?

"It should be better than what you'd want to call her," Malik quipped.

The girl looked between the two and laughed.

"Quiet." Altair grumbled.

"What about Azzah?" Malik asked with a quiet sigh.

"You want to name her after a dirty animal?" And he thought nothing was worse than Malik. Altair shot him a look. "She needs something stronger."

"A gazelle is not a dirty animal." Malik replied with a groan. His head hurt.

The girl looked between the two from behind Altair's legs. She crawled forward to inspect his boots. After a moment, she started to pick at the dried blood that she'd found underneath one of the buckles and Altair's eye twitched. He took a step back and leaned against the wall, nudging her away with his other foot.

"How do you guys remember all of those names?" she asked, getting up and bouncing on her feet.

Altair shrugged. "It comes with age." He mused, glancing at Malik. She followed his gaze and giggled.

"Alima?" he suggested.

Malik snickered. "She isn't wise if she decided to follow you of all people." The girl at Altair's feet gave Malik a frustrated look after being insulted.

Another moment or two passed. The sun was going down, the merchants were harking their last calls outside and every so often a new assassin would arrive for some of message or package without so much as a word. Finally, Altair gave an exasperated sigh. "What about Fath?"

Malik gave Altair a look as he shoved a few scrolls under the counter and rested his forearm on top. "Altair…you do realize that this is a young girl we are talking about, and not a man, correct?"

Altair smirked. "Malik, you do realize that I am not a young girl, right? It fits her."

The two glanced at the girl and back. After a few seconds, Malik turned with a wave of his hand. "Do what you like. It wasn't me who found her." Though, he did have to say that it suited her almost as well, but they'd wasted an hour or two trying to come up with a name for her and though his time management was already poor this was plain ridiculous. "Hurry back. You have that mission to attend to in Acre." Malik waved. Altair nodded and gestured for Fath to follow close as he headed for courtyard.

"I like Fath." She mused, skipping eagerly around the mats. "It sounds pretty."

Altair glanced at her as he pulled her dress down from the wall. "It's a man's name." he handed her the dress and crossed his arms.

" What does it mean?" She took the dress from him and looked it over.

"It means 'victory'." he said.

Fath nodded again and smiled. "Thank you." She took a second to think and stuck her arm out, reaching for his hand. "I'm Fath."

Altair looked at her suspiciously and started to wonder why she was as peculiar as she was, picking at blood and laughing with assassins. Nonetheless, he took her hand in his and gripped it lightly. "Altair Ibn La'ahad." He said, watching her mouth morph into a smile.

She turned around and threw off her borrowed robes, slipping the frayed, filthy rucksack over her head. Malik watched from the doorway and ran his hand through his hair. "Bye Fath." He waved.

Fath gave him a toothy grin and waved back. "Bye, mister." She turned around and Malik looked up to Altair who was looking back at him. It was as if they shared a thought or two where Malik scolded Altair for treating her like a dog and where Altair scolded Malik for getting attached. What happened to the old Malik with the same emotional barrier as Altair? What happened to the cold front he put up to match? Did they all just disappear with his arm? Or did he simply change his attitude to match his new job as Rafiq? Altair shook his head while Malik nodded at him and turned around to continue with his work.

It took him a moment as he watched him move away before returning his attention to Fath. "C'mon."

* * *

**_AN: Again, so sorry it was shorter than usual :( _**

**_I made a clay emblem of the Assassin's Creed :D woooh~ /shot._**

**_Fangirls...sigh. In other words, NO ALTAIR AND FATH ARE NOOOOOT RELATED. Nuh uh. Not gonna happen. They just happen to look alike. Sorry for all of those who might have wanted it .Next chapter will be up soon~. Thank you so much for all the favorites and reviews. 3_**

**_Stay chill~._**


	4. Chapter 4

_**AN:**__** This is a longer chapter :D Oh, by the way, I've decided that I will write all through the week and make 4 chapters. Then, on the weekend, I will edit them all and post them up Sunday Night. This will help me with my school work and will help organize things a bit more. I hope this doesn't disappoint people D:**_

**Special thanks to Stele for being my Beta :D Sorry to those who applied, she asked me and she's a personal friend and writer so...Yeah. :)**  
**This one is edited. For the most part lol.  
**

**Enjoy.**  
**Stay chill~.**

* * *

She splashed in almost every puddle she could find and Altair felt his patience growing thinner. He agreed to take her with him to the market, but he did not agree to baby sit all day just to get her off his back. Her feet, he noticed, had mud hardened around her ankles. He sighed. It seemed he had been sighing a lot lately.

The market wasn't nearly as packed as it had been earlier in the day. There were fewer merchants and civilians around and that made Altair's eyes shift cautiously- he was starting to think Malik would have to deal without the herbs for a while, but he came across the same merchant he'd encountered many times before and things seemed to lighten up.

He did have more important means to attend to like getting back to Al Mualim with Malik's Bureau reports. He also had to get back to Acre and retrieve the documents with the cities' recent political advances and crime rates, news; everything that was needed. He most likely had to head to Acre from here, even if it meant a longer trip. It grated on his nerves that he was stuck doing the smaller tasks instead of doing the real work. What happened to all the assassinations? What happened to the information? Even if he was undergoing his punishment he expected more labor instead of less. Al Mualim knew he could do it and just having him on the sidelines proved that he was getting less done without an extra set of hands.

But he was violently yanked out of his musings when water hit his knees. He scowled and glared down at his soaked pants, then at her. Fath looked up at him and cringed.

"Uhm…" she stuttered, wringing her hands together awkwardly.  
"No more puddles," he growled.

Fath pouted and they continued towards the stands plastered across the wall of homes out looking the plaza. The merchant, spotting them whilst working, greeted them with a joyful shout. "Ah! You again!"  
Altair nodded. "Where's your friend, Malik? Ah, nevermind, what do you need today, my friend? We're having a very good day, a very busy day, and everything is cheaper than ever." He said heartily, gesturing with a sweep of his arm at the goods layered around on the wooden planks. The merchant looked down at the girl by Altair's side and back. "And who's this young woman? One of your own, maybe? I find it odd that I didn't notice this pretty face sooner."  
Altair scoffed, as if the idea of being related to her was something foreign. "Not at all."  
Fath rolled her eyes. "He's my uncle." She said, smiling at the merchant. The merchant replied with a laugh and took her hand in greeting. "Close enough. Now, what can I get you two today?"  
Altair tossed the small pouch of coins onto the counter. "Two vials of ink. And a handful of Lavender, Sage, and Tansy leaves." The merchant nodded and tapped the air a few times with his forefinger.  
"I think," he turned around and moved a few crates, "I think I have some Sage left." Altair stood and observed the surrounding areas. He could have sworn he was doing it on purpose, but it was just out of habit. Nothing out of place. Nothing stood out to him, he noted.

"Here we are!" he turned back to the stand and the merchant presented bottles and vials. "Nothing else? We're having a very large sale on fruit today, cheapest in the city, and-"

"No, no thank you. Malik sends his thanks."

"Yes, yes of course." The merchant sighed, backing away to bow his head respectively. Fath waved. "Bye!" and he waved back with a smile. Altair and her both walked away quickly, but she had start at a jog to be able to catch up.

She didn't really want to leave his side, and she didn't really didn't know what she should have felt for their upcoming separation. Though he could be stubborn and harsh, he seemed like a straight minded person with good intentions, even if he was awkward at times. Little did she know, though, about his job and training. With her at his side the way she was she resembled a baby chick following it's mother. When a chick has it's ignorance to follow someone like her mother who, one day, will be led to slaughter.

She resumed her skipping and glanced up at Altair who's face remained stony and shadowed like it always did. "Who's Malik?"  
He kept his eyes on the path. "The Rafiq in the Bureau."  
She nodded and smiled, remembering the sarcastic man behind the counter. A few more seconds went by and so did the people they passed. "Why do you always wear your hood up?" she chirped.  
Altair chewed on the inside of his mouth. "Because."  
Fath frowned and pursed her lips. They were coming closer to their destination on the opposite side of the city where the crowd had thinned with the merchants, there were benches and dirt roads with puddles just for her. And just when he thought there weren't any more questions-  
"Where are we going?"  
He gnashed his teeth together and turned sharply around the corner as if to lose her. "You," he said, stopping suddenly in front of a deserted alleyway in the more desolate area of Jerusalem, "are going to stay here and beg, or play, or sleep, or do whatever you do. Ihave a job to do and I don't need a child to hinder my mission."  
She looked up at him with a clear understanding of his reasoning, but suddenly her face lit up. "But, why can't I work with you? I could be an apprentice of some kind, can't I? I mean, what you do can't be that hard since I see people like you with white robes praying all the time, and stuff."  
Altair scoffed. She seemed so willing, so enthusiastic it was almost unreal. "No. And the men 'praying' are not the men who do what I do. Those are scholars. The complete opposite." And with that said, he turned and jumped onto the wall, latching onto the window and launching himself up to the second story. When he got to the top, he took a fleeting look at Fath before leaping across the roof.

He didn't feel any pity towards his smaller acquaintance and their separation. He didn't exactly feel empathy or sympathy or any kind of remorse for her lack of shelter or means of survival. He'd seen plenty of children on the streets, especially in Damascus, and none of them had been as stubborn as she. But why would he give her a name? Why would he when he knew they wouldn't either remain with each other for more than two days at the most? It was out of character for him, but she wasn't too naïve for a…six year old? He didn't recall ever getting her age.

Altair took his time returning to the Bureau, walking along the rooftops instead of running across them, avoiding guards when he didn't feel like chasing or being chased since it meant spending more time in a city where he had no buisness in.  
He jumped down silently into the Bureau's courtyard and approached the main room, where Malik stood behind the counter with more books and scrolls and maps of all kinds piled up in front of him. He was in a dry set of clothing now and all of the pillows had been exchanged for clean ones. The floor of the Bureau had been cleaned of water and swept by the novices, and the mats had been taken down from the walls. Overall, it didn't even look like it had rained.  
"Ah, look who's back." Malik mumbled, tracing his fingers over what looked like the map of the city.. Altair set the bottles down on the counter and crossed his arms.  
Malik looked up at him. "What? No insult?"  
He said nothing and the Rafiq shook his head, retracting the bottles. He slipped the ink below the counter and left to deal with the herbs. When he returned, he handed Altair a large scroll, which he took and turned in his hands.

"It's the recent information about Jerusalem and the Bureau's progress." Malik muttered, shoving his maps under the counter. He didn't look up as he muttered. "Your job is done. Safety and peace, brother."  
Altair nodded and tucked the scroll under his belt. "Safety and peace." Then, he re-entered the courtyard and scaled the wall. He towards the gates while on the streets directly below him Fath watched silently.

* * *

The winds blew fiercely and the sun beat down heavily as Altair rode through the gates of Masyaf on his horse. Civilians were everywhere, whether it be in the Bazar or just talking around the houses, and guards patrolled the streets in the same organized manner. Women walked by with jars on their heads in the lightest clothing they could own, and men carrying crates full of goods crossed his path. He approached the gates of the castle and dismounted his horse, giving the guards a look of business, rather than boasting arrogance, and walked through with aired confidence. Around him, men stood by the pillars in front of the vast collections of books and maps where scholars filed through.

He climbed the stairs two at a time and pulled out the two scrolls from Acre and the scroll from Jerusalem, approaching Al Mualim's work space.

His master stood out-looking the city from the tall windows of his library. He had on the usual black robes of the Master Assassin with his hands folded into the sleeves, the white of his beard stretching from under his hood. Altair cleared his throat softly and presented the scrolls. "Safety and peace, Master."  
Al Mualim turned around and made a small noise of content. "Ah, Altair. Have you brought any news?"  
Altair nodded and placed the scrolls in the middle of the table. Al Mualim gave a small smile and took one in his hands, opening it up and grazing over the words loosely until one particular section caught his eyes. Altair grew curious and a bit antsy, he didn't look at them, but he was starting to lightly tap his fingers together behind his back in anticipation. After a longer while, the master folded the scroll once more and set it back down, taking the time to pace across the front of the table. He stopped and turned towards Altair.

"Malik reported that you took a child into the Bureau?" he asked, looking at him with questions forming in his eyes.  
Altair nodded solemnly. "Yes, master."  
Al Mualim nodded, as if already knowing this, and continued to walk around the table. "Why?" He anticipated this, and made sure he wouldn't say the wrong thing. He unfolded his hands and let his arms hang stiffly by his sides. "She followed me halfway up a building when the guards arrived. I could not put the life of an innocent in danger, master."  
Al Mualim accepted this and continued to pace. Altair took this chance to continue. "I have learned from my punishment." His master nodded. "So it seems, but," He inwardly winced, "what has become of her?"

"She was put back onto the streets." He replied smoothly. Al Mualim stopped pacing. "So she's a beggar? Or merely just an orphan?" he asked.  
"Both, it seems." Outside, the sound of cheering could be heard from the sparring ring below.  
"Master, why do you take such interest in her?" he asked.  
Al Mualim glanced briefly down at the ring then back at the city. "You said she followed you halfway up a building?" Altair nodded. "And she's how old?"  
Altair hesitated for a moment before answering. "She seemed to be about six, master. Is she that interesting?"  
Al Mualim smiled. "Yes, very much so. To be so young and stubborn? And a woman, no less."  
Altair almost wanted to bang his head against the railing.  
"What is her name?"

"Fath."  
At this Al Mualim raised an eyebrow. "Peculiar name," he mused.  
Now he really wanted to slam his head against the rail. "Keep an eye on her during your next visit. Report anything else that should stand out to me when you return."  
Altair raised an eyebrow and took a step forward. "But master, she is a mere child...and a girl. Why do you take such an interest in her? You're not thinking of having her apprenticed here?"  
Al Mualim turned around and stared icily back at him, disappointment hollow in his eyes. "Have you forgotten the past assassins, Altair? The ones who built the Creed?"  
He opened his mouth to answer but he was cut off. "Have you forgotten Illtani of the Babylonian Brotherhood? Or Amunet of the Egyptian Brotherhood? The point, Altair, is that it does not matter whether you are a man or a woman. Illtani and Amunet were deeply respected female assassins, just so much as Wei Yu or Leonius were. You will watch her and report anything of worth back to me. Understand?" Altair didn't exactly agree, nor like, his master's reasoning, but he nodded anyways and gave his respects before taking his leave.

* * *

Time passed and he was back in Acre, red feather in hand sprinting past civilians and guards. Bells rang and people screamed. With the death of another targeted politician the city was in a panic, with guards behind him chasing with every fiber of their beings. He narrowed his eyes at the line of guards blocking his path and rounded himself up the front of a brothel in a split second decision to continue to sprint towards the Acre Bureau. Within seconds the guards had followed him up the same building, less than gracefully crossing the beams and arcs connecting the roofs. His feet felt heavy as the chase stretched longer and farther across the city where he soon he found himself passing the Bureau altogether.

He was facing the dilemma when he reached the cities walls and he spotted a group of scholars; he dived into the group quickly and folded his arms in the exact praying motion. But it was too late. He was spotted immediately and pushed out of the group and into the wall. Rebounding, his hands dispersed daggers quickly, piercing a couple of chests and a few throats until his supply ran dry. From his left, a heavily armored man swung his sword and caught his arm, ripping the sleeve of his robes and leaving a gash in his skin. With no sign of feeling the pain he reached for his sword and swung in a round. The man went down hard, blood spilling through his armor. Altair spun and blocked another sword aimed for his stomach, giving another swing and slicing across the man's chest. Another spin and he pierced through a guard's stomach. By now, the remaining men had backed up enough for him to sheath his weapon and sprint back down the alley and into a pile of hay where he waited for them to pass without incident.

With a deep sigh, he ran a hand down his face. It was a clean assassination, one without too much resistance or trouble; though nothing of great interest came from the mouth of the target. After he proves the deed be done he's to head to Jerusalem to assist in the assassination of some…slave trader was it? It couldn't be. He performed something similar in the same area too soon. It was most likely another politician or just a few small odd jobs. He glanced down at his arm and took a double take. It was a fairly horrid wound, but it could hold out on the trip to Jerusalem no doubt, just with a few bandages and an application of balm.

Without another thought, he stood up and jumped out of the pile, strutting his way back towards the Bureau with thoughts of his smaller counterpart lingering in the back of his mind.


	5. Chapter 5

_**AN: **__** Hello! Tears here! I just wanted to say that I'm SO SO SO sorry for the irregular posting. Skele and I have been editing this for about 3 days now, and I hope it's alright! Publishing will be slow, okay, so i want you to bear with me now :) The plot is developing nicely now. I hope you guys like it! Sorry it's so short:( I'm trying my hardest to write as fast as I can but with school and homework and everything, Skele and I are freaking busy man! **_

_**Huge freaking thanks to Skele for understanding my sorry butt and putting up with me xD  
I'm sure she'd say the same thing lol. **_

_**Big thanks, I hope you guys like this new chapter! Sort of a filler, but important to the development of this story.**_

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

The trip back was long and hard. Nothing hindered it too much, but halfway back to Jerusalem, a troop of guards set his pace back by an an hour and the longer he remained in the heat of the desert, the longer he would have to watch his wound fester. He wasn't a medic, not even anything close to one, but he was aware of setting infection.

It almost seemed like the more time he spent out traveling the more the heat bothered him. Just like his last trip, the armor he wore almost made it unbearable. But the city was coming into sight now and this time there were no storm clouds. There weren't many guards either, and if he wanted to he could have fought them off. But this time he thought it best to sneak past them.

He led his horse to the same spot in the makeshift stables and tied him down. It whinnied and prodded at his hands, but he swatted it away and made his way into the open. There were fewer civilians around this time and when he walked more out into the open to scout something wasn't right. He felt eyes on the back of his neck. Someone was watching him. It was a guard- one of the guards from the gate- and he knew he didn't have much time to move before their suspicion grew. Again, he scanned the area. It was almost to the point where he thought he'd have to just go and force his way through through their barrier, but at the last moment a group of scholars emerged from behind the stables. Altair made his way towards them and they let him fall into their formation. He moved to the center and copied their movements.

Their pace was slow and steady, and it took them too long to advance through the gates, but they made it through without incident. He dislodged himself from the group and weaved through the crowd into the lower district, staying on the sides. The streets were swarmed with sweating, parched, irritable civilians, but they were also being patrolled by guards and most likely watched by templars. He'd have to be more careful this time around if he wanted to get the mission done quickly and effectively.

When he took a turn behind a merchant's stand and slid into the alley behind it he bumped into someone. At first, he thought it was Fath, it would be a huge coincidence since it had happened twice before, but when he focused it was just a random thug.

"Watch it!" he hissed, spitting at Altair's feet and pushing past him. Altair merely blinked at the him, snatched the man's knives, and continued down the alley to clear his mind.

Should he head to the Bureau? Or would it be better to follow Al Mualim's orders and trail Fath for a while? He could do both, of course, and quickly observe her if he sees her on the way to his destination. It just seemed like a waste of time to spend more energy on a side mission than the actual thing but whether he liked it or not, he couldn't override his master's orders.

He heaved himself up onto the nearest building and jogged towards the Bureau. He could always consult Malik, he figured, but he'd rather not bring her up at the moment, and the two men still weren't on good terms even if they interacted often enough.

The mission was to gather information on a suspected traitor in the Brotherhood. Someone who sold information to the highest bidder. He was glad to receive the job, more than happy to weed out cowards and traitors from Al Mualim's city. Frankly, anyone idiotic enough to betray someone like Al Mualim who has such control must be easy to catch. But he knew better than to underestimate.

He jumped down into the courtyard of the Bureau and walked in, greeting Malik but stopping short. His jaw tightened and the vein in his temple pulsed. On the counter next to him watching Malik work was Fath.

Her hair was washed and pulled back tightly. Now he could see that she did have the same coloring as him, and her dress was replaced with a more fitting set of white robes. The greasy bangs that framed her face were gone, either cut off or tied back. Her old twine dress lay on the chair in the corner and her feet were fit into a pair of plain brown sandals, though her left foot was bandaged. The sharp features of her face stood out, like her jawline and nose, the same sculpted look that Altair also possessed. Her hands were cleaned and her nails were cut, so were her toes. She looked more taken care of now.

His eyes narrowed. No need to find her anymore." How did she get back in?" he asked, glaring back and forth between her and Malik. Malik shrugged, feigning ignorance, and continued to tend to his workspace.

Altair frowned and turned towards Fath. "How did you get in here?" he asked. Fath cocked her head to the side and jumped off the counter, walking up to Altair. She took his arm and tugged him to the counter and he stood there, waiting for the answer he expected. Malik handed her a scroll and she took it, shuffling back behind the counter and vaulting herself up and over to a comfortable sitting position over the side.

Altair watched quietly as she showed him the contents of the scroll, pointing with a delicate finger to the farthest corner of a sketch of Jerusalem's lower-class district.

"You left me here when you last visited," she started. "And I followed you back to here when you left." Her finger dragged across the paper to a smaller version of the Bureau. "And when I found out there wasn't a door, I found this ladder that the guards left up over here." She pointed to a building about 35 yards away. "It wasn't too hard. I just waited until they left."

Malik smirked at Altair from the opposite end of the counter. He was practically grinning. "She got here using the roof. But when she actually arrived, she couldn't get down," he said.

Fath grinned and started to bounce in place. "Yeah, yeah! And Malik wasn't at the counter, so I hung from the side right there!" she stuck her finger out and pointed to the side of the roof closest to the fountain on the wall, but Altair was still trying to process that a six year old child managed to make her way around the guards. They continued.

"I couldn't get down." She pouted. "And Malik wasn't there so I let go..."

"...and she sprained her ankle," he finished.

Fath giggled and rolled up the scroll. "It hurt." She laughed, handing it to Malik.

Altair blanched. "Well of course it hurt!" he sighed, frustrated. Malik suppressed his laughter.

"Be quiet."

Fath laughed and took Altair's right hand, which he promptly snatched away. "Al Mualim has requested that I keep an eye on Fath," he said.

The man stopped at the mentioning of the master and turned to stare at Altair."What? He isn't considering having her apprenticed there is he?"

Altair pinched the bridge of his nose and turned around, pacing around the front of the counter.

Fath looked from one to the other."What? Am I in trouble?"

"No." He shook his head.

Malik ran his hand through his hair and slipped the map of Jerusalem under the counter. "Did you ask him why he was thinking of adding her to the ranks?" he asked, resting his forearm on the counter.

Altair nodded and fiddled with his gloves. "He told me that if she was showing promise that I should report back to him. When I asked why, he thought I doubted the possibility of a woman becoming an assassin."

Malik laughed. "Ridiculous. You doubt the possibility of anyone becoming an assassin."

Altair frowned and glanced at Fath who was currently playing with the hem of Malik's robe, watching Malik work. "Do I get to be an assassin too?" she asked, smiling. Her cheeks were red.

"What have you not told her?" His frustration was growing by the minute. It wasn't that he didn't like her, he didn't care for her, but this wasn't what he was supposed to be wasting his time on. And why was she smiling? This was no childish game.

"Altair, take her with you on your mission. Show her how it's done," Malik joked.

Altair glared and started to protest when the girl on the sidelines gasped."I can go with you, Alty?" She grinned, jumping off the counter and landing on her good foot. Malik tried to stop himself from laughing.

"What?" Altair sighed incredulously. "No pet names."

Fath just stared up at him."Can I go with you, Altair? If it's my foot, Malik said I can just limp on it for a while until it heals! I won't do anything to mess you up," she pleaded eagerly.

Altair blinked at her, and looked at Malik. "No." He flexed his hands and leaned on his right leg. "Malik," he approached the counter and rested his forearms on top, "Would it be wise to take her with me? Not at all. Stop messing around," he scolded, not even bothering to look up.

Malik frowned and ran a hand through his hair. "Well, what do you expect me to do? Make her train for something she doesn't understand? I'm not about to do that."

Altair's lips narrowed into a hard line and he lifted his arms. Fath looked at him questioningly.

"When you were trying to get into Bureau," he started, "did any guards see you?" He folded his arms over his chest.

Fath tilted her head for a moment and opened her a mouth a few times. If she was chased she wasn't about to forget it. She was trying to weigh her options, carefully it seemed. "Maybe."

Altair's eyes narrowed and he went to turn around to head back into the courtyard when she started again. "There was this guy with a funny helmet!" she exclaimed, hopping off the counter. "He chased me for a long time. He wasn't even a guard, he didn't look like one, at least," she mumbled, trotting over to the chair in the corner and picking up her dress. She held it up to show Malik and Altair, spreading it and pointing to a specific tear on the side reaching past her mid-thigh if she had been wearing it. "He grabbed my clothes but it ripped and I got away." She smiled with pride.

Malik shook his head."With the things you're going to report to Al Mualim I wouldn't be surprised if he accepted her into the Brotherhood." He smirked.

Altair rolled his eyes. "Fath." She looked up at him. "Put your dress on. After I finish my mission I am going to return here. Al Mualim will want to see you."

Fath looked up at him, her eyebrows knitting together. "But, why?" Behind the counter, Malik folded his sketch back into it's scroll and handed it to Fath. She took it and hopped onto the chair. Altair just shook his head and strode out into the courtyard, latching onto the wall and climbing up to the roof where he hopped down onto the road below.

Fath turned to Malik and climbed back onto the counter. "If it's called a Brotherhood, why am I being put in it?"

Malik chuckled and pat her head. "It just means you're special. Do not worry about it. Altair has to worry for you." He sighed.

Fath laughed. "Altair's silly."

Malik raised an eyebrow and dragged his hand across another map, almost smearing the ink he'd just put down. "Don't get too close to him," he muttered, blotting at the ink with a cloth."He might just disappoint you."

She shook her head, handed him another cloth and frowned. "Altair wouldn't do that."

Malik pressed his lips into a thin line and set the map aside, holding his tongue and turning away from what he thought was the most naive statement he'd ever heard.

* * *

_** You guys like? :D  
Let me know what you think! Leave a review for Skele and I!  
She says she love you guys too.  
Stay chill~**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**AN: ****Sorry for the wait, guys. I took a few days after the last chapter to search for a beta...AND I FOUND ONE! :applause: **_

_**Thank you so, so much Spooky_Kitten for being the beta for TBM. It means a lot to me, really.**_

_**You guys better thank Spooky. Without her, this chapter would not be possible.**_

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

Altaïr perched himself on the edge of a regular brick house overlooking the merchant's square in the middle-class district. He glanced over the civilians, searching for a specific informant he was supposed to engage. He'd been interrogating and following men all day, informants and Templars among them, for the information he sought to complete the mission. The sun had set hours ago.

There was no light left from what he could see, and he had almost decided to head down into the bushes when he realized that he forgot something in his hurry out of the Bureau hours before. He squinted down at his arm and groaned irritably, almost slapping himself.

His own blood had crusted around the slash of skin, clumping to his uniform and making it harder to use the muscles in his arm. The wound was inflamed and had just started to ooze with pus when he decided that it was best to call it a day and head to the Bureau. He took the fold of his sleeve, pulled up, and winced. The blood had acted like glue. It pulled at the hairs on his arm, but also at his festering skin.

His target, a widely known informant in Jerusalem, wasn't supposed to arrive until morning tomorrow…he supposed that if he left now, tended to his wound and returned that he would still be in the clear. Though, if he left, he'd have to come back as soon as possible. It didn't seem like a lot of trouble so he went ahead with it.

He made his way almost blindly through the darkness towards the direction of the Bureau, scaling down the sides of buildings and prowling his way out of an alley. He wasn't too far away from the place since the merchant's square was practically right around the corner, and he figured that it shouldn't be too hard to find the place, even in the dark. Right?

No, he was wrong. Finding the Bureau was difficult. There was practically no light except from what was reflected out from the homes he walked in between. The road he walked on was almost peaceful under the soft light of the moon, with all of the citizens in bed. Altaïr's eyes began to feel heavy as he made his way up and over the Bureau's wall.

He dropped down into the small garden and hit the pavement with a grunt. Once inside, he closed the rooftop's entrance and made his way inside the Bureau's main room where Malik sleepily hung over the counter, scrawling the contents of a book onto a separate piece of parchment. He was looking over what appeared to be a book on the Christian culture when he walked in.

The room was lit up by a single candle perched on the edge of his desk, the faint aroma of lavender wafting around the room. Fath was nowhere to be seen; she wasn't on the counter or the chair and he didn't hear any conversation going on between them.

Malik looked up from his work when he approached, setting down his quill and closing the book.

"Slow, as usual." he scolded, shaking his head. "Fath is asleep, just so you know." Altaïr figured as much and pushed back his hood.

"Why do you care so much for her?" Altaïr asked, walking past the counter and towards the hallway.

There was no doubt that he was curious. The Dai treated her like his own, teaching her how to read maps, making sure she was comfortable, and it was just strange how much he liked to talk to her. Not that he didn't either, just not as much. Altaïr found something interesting in her; he just didn't know what it was yet.

Malik eyed him for a moment before returning to the book on the counter.

"She reminds me of Kadar. Why don't you care about her?" the retort didn't exactly catch him off guard, but he didn't answer. Instead, he continued through the halls to an unused room and sat down, unstrapping his boots and tossing them into the farthest corner. He stripped himself of his armor and hood, leaning against the wall in his tunic and pants. Then he remembered his arm and shot back up, glancing down at it with something akin to horror.

The skin had gone slightly putrid and started to smell of dried blood and wet wool. It was around the gash that the skin had turned slightly purple with bruising and even though the blood had stopped flowing, the pus wouldn't stop oozing.

Altaïr burst through the door and returned to Malik's counter where he'd been in the middle of cleaning up when he saw him.

"What is it, novice?" he sighed, irritated. "It's late and I'd like to be-" Altaïr shoved the Dai aside and knelt in front of the shelves, pulling bandages and jarred remedies and setting them on the floor. Malik stared at him for a split second before he noticed the wound, his eyebrows knitting together.

"When did you get that?" he lifted the appendage and eyed the bloodied area around his forearm. Altaïr stood up, setting the medical equipment down, and laying his arm on the counter. He tried to pull the sleeve back, but Malik slapped his hand away.

"Don't touch it. It's infected you dumbass." Altaïr growled and unscrewed the top to a jar of yellow cream, dipping his fingers into it and trying to smear it on his wound. Malik took hold of his hand and shoved it away.

"If you do that you'll just make it worse and-no, Altaïr, stop. That's not the medicine you want." Malik repeatedly shoved his hand away from his injured arm, and eventually, just held it against the countertop.

"You need to clean the wound and remove the fabric. Stop resisting, for Allah's sake!" The man frowned and scraped his salve-covered fingers against the rim of the jar.

"Fine." he said, shoving the jar at Malik.

The Dai smirked and let go of his hand, making his way to the courtyard and returning with a wooden bowl full of water. Just yesterday, the man had been yelling at Altaïr, and now he was helping him. He figured the world was more interesting this way.

That was when Fath came shuffling down the hall and into the room. She was in a smaller white tunic Malik had stumbled on while cleaning out storage and her shoulders were wrapped in one of the spare blankets he'd given to her. For someone as strict as Malik, he could be undoubtedly soft at times.

"What's 'oing on...?" she yawned, stumbling up to Altaïr and settling against his leg. He ignored this and ruffled her hair.

"Why are you up?" he looked down at her and tried not to wince as Malik pulled the cloth from his skin.

"I dunno. Why are you two up?" she pressed her face against his thigh and closed her eyes. The assassin awkwardly glanced at her then back at his arm, though she didn't notice.

"Fath?" Malik raised an eyebrow and peeled back the rest of Altaïr's sleeve. Altaïr sucked in a breath and watched as the cloth was literally peeled off his arm. The skin around the broken flesh was purple and surrounded by clumps of dried blood and pus. Fath, now curious, climbed up the boxes of parchment stacked to the side of the wall and onto the counter. One look at the wound and her eyes filled with questions.

"What did you do, Alty?" ignoring his pet name, he pat her head again and tried not to grimace as Malik washed the wound with a wet cloth. The Dai tried not to laugh at his nickname.

"Templar attack." he mumbled, eyeing her when she took his other hand in hers. He snatched it away and watched her pout.

"Novice." Malik murmured, struggling to thread the needle. Altaïr glanced down at him and used his good arm to ease the string through. Malik pursed his lips and let him tie a knot, swatting him away after he was done. Fath glanced at them and then down at her hands.

"Altaïr, do you hate me?"

Both he and Malik looked up from what they were focusing on and they both stared at her with frozen movements.

"Oh, look at that." Malik held up the yellow salve jar. "We need more of this." and with that, he strode into the back rooms without another thought. Altaïr and Fath stared after him for a moment.

"I'm amputating his other arm." he decided. Fath looked back to him and crossed her legs, wrapping the blanket around herself.

On one hand, he could shut down and retreat into the back room to help Malik, but on the other hand he could stay and confront the problem. If he left, that'd only lead her confirm her suspicion. A woman is like a fire, he thought, and fire feeds on oxygen. When something is approached by the fire, it'll envelop it so that it fuels the flames and allows it to grow.

"I do not hate you." he said, flexing his right hand. Fath pursed her lips and straightened her back.

"Then why are you always so angry?" she picked up his hand and this time he let her have it. It was time he gave up wondering why he stuck around her anyways.

"I'm not angry." From the back room, Malik laughed. Fath nodded and dropped his hand, beginning to squirm on the counter.

"Okay, but I have something to ask." Altaïr glanced at her.

"You mentioned Templars earlier, right?" he nodded and narrowed his eyes. He didn't know where this was going, but he had a feeling that it wasn't going to end well.

"How many were there? Were you still in this city when you saw them? What did they look like if you could see their faces? What-"

"Stop. Why do you wish to know so much about them?" he gave her a look.

When she didn't answer, he ruffled her hair.

"Hey, answer." he noticed that her fingers were nervously twitching against the counter.

"Malik told me about them and I wanted to know more."

Altaïr just shook his head and smoothed her hair back out of habit.

"You'll have your chance, kid." she just smiled at him. That's when Malik re-entered the room, his jar restocked with the yellow salve.

"Alright, now don't move." he set the jar down, picked up the needle and went to work on Altaïr's arm again, puncturing the bruised skin and starting to stitch the skin together. Wherever the needle went through, a small bead of blood followed. Fath watched in horror and began to suppress the overwhelming urge to vomit, jumping off the table and rushing back to her room. Both men watched her leave, chuckling as she slammed the door.

It took about fifteen stitches to seal the gash, and afterwards, Malik had rubbed on a foul smelling, green lotion. He said that it would help with the setting infection and it'd take away the pain, so Altaïr didn't feel the need to object to it. They were almost done with the bandaging when Fath poked her head outside of her room.

"We're done." Malik called, handing Altair the ends of the cloth for him to tie.

She padded across the hall and towards the other man, lingering by the legs. Altaïr straightened back up and slipped the remaining of the bandages under the counter again before rubbing at his eyes.

"I'm going to bed. Try not to stay up late, Malik." He joked, smirking. He looked down at Fath and ruffled her hair a bit more. "You. Bed." Fath looked up at him and glared.

"Why do I have to go to bed? Malik gets to stay up late." She said, hand on her hips.

"Look at that, Altaïr. She really is your counterpart."

"Shut up, Malik." Altaïr stared down at her and she stared back, his arms folded across his chest. The Dai stood on the sidelines, a smug grin pressed onto his face, watching them battle it out mentally for what seemed like an hour. Finally, Fath turned and went back into her room, slamming the door again. Altaïr grinned and turned back to Malik.

"Who said I wasn't good with children?"

"Go to bed, novice."

Altaïr smirked and trotted back to his own room, closing the door and returning to his bed for a well-deserved rest.

* * *

Morning came and Altaïr had carried out his mission after receiving permission from the Dai. It was successful and the two found themselves sitting in the courtyard with Fath, enjoying their breakfast.

A few of the novices had also decided to join them and it turned out that Fath had stumbled upon them while exploring the Bureau's many doors. Now, the three of them listened as the novices shared stories of their missions and the funny predicaments over their years of training. It was almost comical how much they got into the stories. Fath excitedly listened to them fight over details as she gnawed on her share of bread.

"There was this one time where we traveled to Damascus with one of the master assassins stationed in Acre." One of them started. The others immediately started to laugh.

"Oh yeah!"

"I remember that!"

"And on the way, we accidentally pushed him down this hill..."

"That wasn't funny."

"Whatever, it was hilarious."

She giggled and shoved a chunk of bread into her mouth.

"What did you do when he got back up?" she asked, laughing. Malik and Altaïr watched as the three novice's faces went pale and the food fell out of their mouths.

"Well...he-we, um."

"He kind of got up and we ran away." one of them said, looking down at his plate. The boy next to him smirked.

"Yeah, and then he took our horses and let us walk all the way to the city." he laughed.

"Cowards." Altaïr grunted, setting his plate aside.

By this time, Fath was incapable of speech as she used her hand to cover her mouth, silently laughing along with the novices. Malik glanced at them and smirked, while Altaïr threw an orange slice at Fath's head telling her to breathe so she didn't pass out.

They finished their breakfast and Fath said her goodbyes to the novices as Altaïr led her out of the courtyard.

She had replaced her older tunic with something Malik had found for her. The sun out there was brutal and he didn't know how she had gotten along so well on the streets with such poor clothing. Instead, she had on two pairs of gray tunics from the novice's washroom and a pair of brown leggings. Instead of her regular sandals, she was put in a pair of worn down leather boots, also from the novice's washroom. Attached to the tunics she wore was a plain gray cowl. Overall, she looked like she had shrunken overnight, but the heavy clothing would shield her from the heat.

"It's hot, Malik." she pouted, pulling at her sleeves. He humored her and gave her a look.

"It's not for long. Masyaf isn't that far away from Jerusalem and I'm sure Altaïr will keep you company." he smiled, kneeling down to her level. She nodded and glanced down at her feet before springing forward and wrapping her arms around the man's neck for a hug.

"I promise to visit," she mumbled. Malik laughed and wrapped his arm around her.

"I'm sure you will. That reminds me, I have something for you." she let go of him and watched as he strode inside, gesturing her to follow. They both stood by the counter when he pulled something down from the bookshelf; he handed her a box and she took it, turning it around in her hands.

The box was made of a dark wood and the top was decorated with green and white tiles, forming the shape of a lotus flower. The wood was smooth and edges were carved with intricate patterns of vines with leaves of different kinds. Fath gawked at its exterior, but when Malik opened it for her she didn't know what to do with herself.

Inside was a stack of scrolls, some unused and some tied off with different colored ribbons. Malik pointed to the colored scrolls.

"Those are maps of the cities in the area that I sketched out for you. Jerusalem, Acre, Damascus, Masyaf; you can look at them later if you'd like. The others are unused, and I want you to attempt to copy them when you get there. It's alright if you make a mistake, I suppose, but you can always-" he didn't get to finish as she threw herself at him, hugging him for a second time.

"Thanks, Malik." she smiled. She almost didn't want to leave him, they'd become good friends and Malik was like an uncle to her because he'd taught her so much in the past week. She could read better, write better, and she could read maps to the best of her ability. There was no doubt in her mind that Malik was proud of her.

"Okay, okay." he chuckled, gently pushing her away from him and turning her around to slip the box into the bag on her back.

"I'm going to miss you, Malik." she said, looking at the ground. He smiled and pat her shoulder.

"I know. Go on, Altaïr is waiting for you." She turned around and sure enough, back in the courtyard, Altaïr was watching. He nodded at Malik.

"Safety and peace, brother."

"Shut up, novice. Go report back to Al Mualim." he said sternly.

Fath jumped on Altaïr's back and waved to Malik.

"Safety and peace, Malik!" she cried. Malik waved back as Altaïr climbed up the wall.

"Safety and peace, Fath!" And then they were gone.

* * *

Altaïr set her down as they made their way through the streets of the lower class district towards Jerusalem's exit.

"Altaïr?" she asked, holding his hand so she wouldn't get lost. He didn't object to it and instead even let her play with his fingers.

"Yes?" He paused to turn his head and glare towards a rather nasty thug who had the gall to stare at Fath with something akin to hunger. He'd seen this man a lot in the days he'd been here and it was starting to get on his nerves.

"Do you think Al Mualim will like me? Malik told me he was really strict." Altaïr nodded at her and turned to watch the civilians exiting the church.

"Al Mualim is curious about you, so yes, I do think he will be pleased to have you in his company." he replied, leading her towards the gates. The guards shouldn't bother them.

"Okay. Well, are there girls like me in the Brotherhood?" They passed through the guards without any trouble as he'd suspected and the pressure seemed to lift off of his shoulders.

"No, there aren't. Just concubines," he sighed, untying his horse from the stables. Fath stared at the mare's white fur and immense size, running a hand down its side and scratching its shoulder.

"What's his name? Where did you get him?" Altaïr's eye twitched. So many questions.

"He's not mine. He's from Masyaf." he lifted Fath up onto the front of the horse's back, jumping up behind her.

"I've never been on a horse before. How long will it take us to get to Masyaf? Do you think we'll come across any Templars? That'd be nice." They made their way towards the outskirts of the kingdom and Altaïr wanted to lob his ears off.

"It'll take about a day, maybe. And if we run into Templars that would not be a pleasant thing. Nor something to wish for." His head started to throb and he couldn't help but think of drowning himself in the next river. It wouldn't be hard.

Fath grinned and toyed with his left hand as she usually did, humming as they made their way up the path and in the direction of Masyaf.

* * *

_**Hey guys! :D **_

_**What you think? The next chapter will be a big one. I personally like it, and a few of my friends have already read it and they said it was good. I hope you guys like it! I want to post it tomorrow since it's been edited, an Easter special if you will. **_

_**Leave a favorite and a review, tell us what you think, what'd you like, what you'd expect! We'll talk to you later.**_

_**Stay chill~**_


	7. Chapter 7

**_AN: __GUYS! Hello! I'm __so so so sooo sorry for not getting to you guys sooner. My beta and I are dealing with health problems and some other things that I won't mention on here, so I hope that you guys forgive me for not getting this up sooner. I apologize sincerely. Also, I hope you guys read the AN down at the bottom. You don't have to and I'm sure you guys don't anyways...but I just hope someone does ;) _**

**_Thanks, enjoy this chapter!_**

* * *

Fath was too excited for her own good, he had decided. Her questions didn't falter the entire trip. They'd stopped for a cool down by the river on the halfway point to their destination, now this was a good span of time between their departure from Jerusalem, and there were still words left in that throat of hers. Except presently, she was dancing and splashing in the shallow ends in the old rucksack dress Malik took the liberty of packing for her. Her boots sat by Altair who'd refused to get into the water, much to her disappointment, but she didn't try to persuade him after he made it clear that he wasn't going to follow her.

The water felt like silk on her skin, relaxing the muscles she'd kept tensed throughout their ride in the heat. It let her float when she felt relaxed and let her swim when the energy was too much to keep bottled up.

"Altair, aren't you hot?" she called, sending him a calm smile. He looked at her, resting his arms on his knees.

"You're going to get sun burned out there."

Giving him a look, she dove into deeper waters, swimming lazily against the current.

"Do you not like the water?"

"No."

"But why?"

"I don't enjoy it." He shrugged, watching her make her way out of the water and onto the riverbank.

"Oh." He handed her one of her tunics and she used it to dry off. The hair on her shoulders was stringy and matted, already caked with dirt.

He rolled his eyes and thought about the last time he had actually swam. He couldn't remember the techniques he was taught so long ago, but the memories were clear as day.

Back then, he was fifteen and a novice. The heat of the midsummer sun was beating down on everyone's back; at the beginning of their training everyone was by the river below the cliffs of Masyaf.

They had started off with the basics, some tips on how to ration their breath and how to have good form. While most of the students were paying attention, the rest were sitting on the bank with their heads in the clouds. Altair was among the lacking of the group.

When the instructor was sure he'd lectured the novices enough, he let them jump in. Everyone started to scramble into the water, pushing and shoving to get relief from the heat. Altair was among the first of the boys to push off from the bank and paddle to the edge of the shallows. It was almost as if he was immersed in a pile silk, only he could move with grace. The water was almost up to his chest now.

Everyone was laughing and enjoying themselves. Even the instructor was smiling as he taught. Altair was enjoying himself too, talking and swimming next to Rauf and Malik in the shallows. The only problem was that they wanted to go into deeper waters, but he had already tried. His arms didn't want to make the arcs like the instructor had. His legs didn't want to push off and kick, and when he did manage to get farther out, he couldn't stay afloat. Malik had hauled him back to the shallows with a curious glance.

He didn't want to feel weak, so he tried again and started to paddle forward. It was going well, his arms were slicing through the water. It wasn't graceful, but it got him somewhere. Malik was calling for him, Rauf too. They said he was too far out. He kept going and the instructor was impressed in how determined he seemed to be. But Altair was still Altair, and he wanted to do everything to get in favor and become the best. Nothing could have gone wrong for him because it never had. If something did happen, it wasn't ever permanent and people still remembered him as the best because of how hard he tried to fit into his father's shoes. So he messed up a few times, so Malik had to haul him back once; that's trial and error. With a smug grin, he pushed to the middle of the river. Except that was his one big mistake.

There was a tug on his arm, but he kept going. His legs kicked harder and he was sent flying to the left only to be jerked underneath the surface, pulled farther down and kicked back up. He kept thinking that he could get out, that everything was fine, that he just had to remember the instructor's words on currents. Just relax your body and it'll work you out of its system, he remembered the instructor telling them. He had said that everything would be fine.

Above the water, people were yelling for him, waving their arms and jumping around, but nobody was moving. Not even Malik this time. The current yanked him to the side again and slammed him into the cliff opposite of the side he'd started on, scraping him across the jagged surface until he pushed off with his legs. Immediately, he realized that what he had just done counted as resisting the current and that was what he wasn't supposed to do and, in his panic, inhaled a good amount of water.

However, as soon as he was free, he frantically kicked up to the surface where he got the chance for a few quick coughs before he was sucked back down. His arms flailed and his mouth kept opening and closing like a fish.

Above him was a splash, and minutes later, the instructor was hauling him back to shore. They were out of harm's way when the instructor yelled at the novices to help Altair to the infirmary and they all obeyed at once.

"Are you okay? We told you not to go out that far, you idiot!" Malik exclaimed, kneeling down next to him to help the others heave him towards the fortress. All Altair replied with was a few coughs and a fleeting grin.

With that little experience he'd broken a rib and acquired new scars, but he was okay otherwise, and even if he wanted to continue in the water he found that no matter how hard he tried he couldn't swim again. There was no one there to force him back in, yeah, everyone knew he couldn't swim, but how many missions did he have where he'd been offered the escape of swimming? Too many to count.

"Altair, I change my mind, it's too cold to swim today." She chattered.

Snapping back to reality, he stood up and approached her with a blanket they'd packed for any night traveling and helped her dryoff.

"I miss Malik," she said suddenly, earning a small laugh from him.

"He isn't much to miss." A small wind blew in and shook the palms of the trees around them, spewing cold air and dust into their faces. The area they had settled in was lush with healthy grass and trees. Mountains surrounded them, but regardless, there was water and small areas of shade under the trees where Altair lounged.

Fath sighed contently and pulled on her other tunic, tossing her dress to the side and handing her hood to Altair to put on for her. She turned around and he started to help her.

"When we get there," he started, "don't look at any of the men directly. Not even the novices. Just stick close." She nodded, having heard this before.

He knew that eye contact wasn't a bad thing. It wasn't like every assassin was a bloodthirsty maniac, but she always smiled. Female or not, if she continued to walk around with this innocence she was going to be picked on. And she was his problem now. If he wanted his life to go smoothly, he'd have to make sure that hers was too.

She stared at the reflection of the water that shone from the midday sun hanging overhead. Altair found it almost comical, the way she looked at it with both admiration and excitement, though two of them knew that she wasn't getting back in to swim. They'd spent too much time being idle and they'd need to keep going if they wanted to get to Masyaf before nightfall. He dug through his bag and pulled out a small heel of bread, tearing a piece off and offering it to her.

"Thanks," she said before taking it and gnawing at it hungrily, still staring at the river, "So are we there yet?" He ignored her.

From his judgment, they'd arrive at Jerusalem around the early evening. They'd have time for dinner, but more importantly, they'd have plenty of time for Al Mualim to see them. It would be an understatement to say that Fath was nervous about meeting the Grand Master. She had asked plenty of questions on their way to Masyaf, almost enough to blow his ears off. Questions like: 'Would Al Mualim train me himself or would you train me, Altair?' or 'Do you think I'll be able to be an assassin like you?' or 'Would it be okay if I shook his hand?'

The two finished their bread and Altair helped her into her boots when something dawned upon him. "How's your ankle doing?" he asked, glancing down at it.

The bandages were soggy and torn, the usual white turned to a faded gray.

She regarded them sheepishly. "Oh yeah...I forgot about that. It feels okay, but I wish it'd stop throbbing." Altair nodded and hauled her up onto the horse. He bent down to pack her dress and second tunic into her bag before giving it to her to hold. When he got behind her, he used the reins to steer the horse onto the trail and through the trees, shifting periodically to get comfortable. Only when he finally found the right position did she start to hum her usual tune.

"Baa, baa, black sheep,

Have you any wool?

Yes sir, yes sir,

Three bags full.

One for the master,

One for the dame,

And one for the little boy,

Who lives down the lane."

Altair, with the reigns in one hand, used his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. Al Mualim expected this gullible, naive, innocent yet miscreant girl to become an assassin? He didn't care how talented she might turn out to be, she was singing a nursery rhyme for Allah's sake. If she called him 'Alty' one more time he thought he would have to slit his own throat.

"Altair, do you know any rhymes?" she asked, craning her neck to look up at him.

These days his life just seemed to get better. With all the sarcasm he could muster he sighed,

"No, sadly."

"That's okay. I can teach you this one if you'd like." She said and bending herself back so that the top of her head touched his chest.

"By all means, don't." Taking the reins in both hands, he hurriedly forced the horse into a gallop. If he didn't get there quickly he'd go insane.

"Why not?" she asked, but they had just passed by a guard tower and Altair was no longer listening. He regarded the building with an icy stare, urging the

horse to go faster, but it was too late. As they sped up, he felt watchful eyes bore into his sides and it wasn't long until their suspicion peaked. Bells went off in his head as he heard the shouts from the guards and he slammed his heels into the horse's sides.

Fath sat upright suddenly, knocked her head against his chest, and watched in slight horror as they approached them.

"Altair, what do we do?" she held onto the sleeve of his arm. She knew she wasn't afraid of being caught, but she was afraid of what they'd if they did end up in their hands. Altair would protect her, of course, and these guards weren't anything close to the Templars Malik told her about, so she relaxed a bit. Maybe he would give her a knife to use. That would be exciting.

Altair spared her a glance and yanked on the reins to steer the horse away from the path and down behind the next tower. There was no way they could escape so many on a horse alone without fighting some of them off. If they had archers then escaping by horse alone would be nearly impossible.

The guards were almost within sword's length and Fath was starting to squirm. Altair grunted and handed the reins to Fath, unsheathing his sword and swinging down to mar the chests of the unlucky soldiers that got too close. Using his free hand, he impaled the neck of the archer he could see at the top of the tower with a throwing knife. The man fell behind the stone railing and didn't get back up. That's when he noticed that they'd just circled the tower for a third time.

Fath made a hysterical noise and desperately tried to control the horse's movements. The guards started to group around them now, yelling for the remaining archers, and Altair was beginning to run out of knives. Fath screamed and tried to imitate Altair's movements when he was in control of the reins, bringing her arms up and down. More throwing knives were dispensed and a few of the archers tumbled off their wooden platforms to land on the dirt path. She tried again with the reins and the horse took off. Its two riders lurched back as it ran down four of the unfortunate guards in the way.

"Altair! I don't know how to ride a horse!" she shouted, trying not to pull on the reins as the mare swerved.

Sheathing his weapon, he briskly shooed her hands away and reclaimed the reins.

"Remind me to teach you how when we get there." he said, biting back a smile as he slowed them down.

Fath took in a deep breath and laughed, but she gasped when an arrow whizzed past Altair's arm and stuck itself in her bag. She blanched and he dug his heels into the horse's belly to give them more speed. She yanked the arrow out, inspecting the hole with a frown.

"I hate guards." She growled and Altair chuckled at her, momentarily resting his chin on the crown of her head.

"One of the village women will show you how to patch that up when we arrive if you ask." he muttered, slowing the horse down a bit.

She clutched her bag to her chest and leaned against him, taking a moment to catch herself. Altair rolled his eyes and led them back towards the path, almost showing off.

The sun had lowered in the sky and the wind had picked up by the time they approached the gates. Fath pulled her hood lower to cover her hair and face, making sure to appear as calm and stoic as Altair had. She didn't want them to know she was a girl yet either. Even though Fath was young, she knew enough about the way people acted towards gender; Malik and Altair had told her enough about the Brotherhood to know that there were little to no woman assassins.

Altair led the horse to the makeshift stables and jumped off. The guards outside the gate exchanged hellos with him as he passed, but he gave them no more than a short 'safety and peace' in their hurry. He was about to help Fath down when a man in gray approached them. His face was scrunched into a scowl and his hand was positioned at the handle of his sword. Fath could tell the moment she saw him that he wasn't here to welcome them.

"Picked up a street rat, eh, novice?" he sneered, looking at them both with disdain.

Altair merely stared at man with calm eyes. "What do you require, Abbas? And if you haven't noticed that we are both novices at the moment then I should really fear for the city. Surely you didn't forget? I still outrank you in skill." Fath held in a laugh and let Altair set her on the ground. Abbas was a short man with black hair and gray eyes. His beard was poorly kept and unruly. The air around him was filled with tension and spite; he seemed to carry himself with hate and arrogance. Both of which didn't suit well with Altair.

Abbas' eyes narrowed as he clucked his tongue in annoyance. "You've sunken to charity. I never thought you were capable of such-"

"If you have something you are required to say to me then you are to say it before I decide to cut you short, novice."

The man growled at him with something akin to hatred, but obviously something more. He glanced to Fath then back at Altair. "Al Mualim requests that you and your street urchin see him at once." His hand tightened around the hilt of his weapon, "And make sure you mind your tongue, brother." He spat at their feet and turned to walk away when Fath's tolerance split in two. She knew enough to know that this man did not belong in the Brotherhood, no matter how skilled he may be, and the fact that he continued to try and belittle them enraged her further. Her hands balled into fists and she stepped forward with as much grace a young girl could have.

"You should follow your own advice before you decide to preach it." she shouted, lifting her head to look him in the eye. The guards from the gate peered around the structure to watch with semi-shocked concern.

Abbas turned to regard her with a greasy smile. "What's this? It has a voice? Altair, you didn't tell me this trash was a girl?"

Fath narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth, but Altair put an arm on her shoulder. He didn't look at her as he steered her away from the man, handing her her bag and leading them around the corner away from Abbas.

"She won't last one day here!" he called.

When they were clear of him, Altair pulled her aside and knelt to her level.

"Did I not say to remain quiet?"

"You didn't." she pouted.

"Well, I'm saying it now." he retorted.

Fath slung the bag over her shoulders and gripped the straps until her knuckles were white. "He insulted us." she spat, head down.

Altair sighed and gently shook her. "Yes, but you disobeyed my orders. That was just Abbas being himself. You will not let people get to you so easily, understand?"

Fath glared at the ground and timidly kicked at a rock. "I don't care." Altair closed his eyes and exhaled. His patience was thinning. She looked up at him and narrowed her eyes. "And what did he mean by 'she won't last one day', Altair? Is it bad to want to be an assassin because I'm a girl?"

He shook his head. "No, it isn't. He's taunting you. Do not waste time on his words. Abbas is scum, you are not. You won't let yourself sink to his level."

She nodded, took Altair's hand, and scooted up close to his leg. Her need for physical contact didn't bother him anymore.

The two made their way up the dirt path, already gaining the attention of civilians and assassins alike. The lack of light gave the village a calm affect, the drab colors of the houses bringing out the soft glow from their windows, the little light they gave still lighting the path. The two passed by a group of children and Fath smiled at them greeting, but they shied away. All of them were only looking at Altair, their eyes wide with wonder. Altair must be well known here; maybe he's that old, she thought.

The only plants around the city were small groups of trees and shrubs for social groups. And though it was dark outside, the entire village was still alive with sounds of conversation and laughter. Men greeted their wives with questions on dinner, children were shrieking and laughing. Masyaf was entirely different from a busy city like Jerusalem.

Every so often, they would pass troops of men in similar clothes as Abbas' and Fath would do as she was told by looking straight ahead, clutching Altair's hand a bit tighter and loosening her grip when they passed. They were halfway up the hill when a young boy about Fath's age came running down towards them. Three boys kept on his tail, their heads covered in something sticky and yellow, hoods back, with faces twisted in fury.

"Get back here, Iyad!"

"You idiot, stop running!"

"Stop running and face your punishment like a man!" they yelled, throwing stones.

Iyad dodged their projectiles and kept running, laughing like he was enjoying himself. Fath smiled as he headed towards them, raising her hand in a small wave while Altair watched her with mild curiosity.

When Iyad caught sight of her face from under the hood he couldn't seem to look away, his grin morphed into something close to a surprise, his eyebrows scrunching up in thought. Everything clicked into place, though, when he also caught sight of the master assassin next to her.

Fath let go of Altair's hand and stopped walking suddenly. "Hi." she said, expecting him to say hi back, but instead he ran faster, purposely running into her shoulder. After he passed, the other boys came and went without noticing her or Altair, still too busy shrieking insults and throwing rocks.

Fath's face fell and she turned to watch them disappear beyond sight, the smile falling from her face as she nervously wrung her hands together in front of her. "Oh." she exhaled and Altair nudged her shoulder, gesturing up the hill. They still had business to attend to, he reminded her, letting her take his hand again.

Fath held her head high and pushed Iyad into the back of her mind, keeping herself focused on seeing Al Mualim. Beside her, Altair could see that she was being stubborn. She looked like him, how much more different could she be in personality, he figured.

When the fortress came into view, Altair glanced upon it with nothing more than mundane feelings from living there his entire life, but Fath on the other hand... Her breath left with a string of awe as she drank in the sight of the fortress with its stone walls and iron gates. Lights streamed out of the numerous windows it held and shone upon the cobblestone pathway, giving the place an eerie feel. The guards out front stood with their hands grasping their weapons and up in the courtyard arena, novices sparred with wooden swords and blunt daggers as inspectors and peers both watched, some cheering. Behind the ring was the Assassin's emblem, spread like a banner above a small porcelain fountain.

She gawked and tried to take everything in as quickly as she could as Altair led her up the stairs towards Al Mualim's library.

He honestly thought she was going to pass out after seeing all the books and scrolls they had laid out upon the shelves of the first floor, but she held her instructions and refused eye contact with any of the Dais and Rafiqs she passed. When they approached Al Mualim's desk, he was overlooking the arena with a single book open in his arms. On the desk was the Piece of Eden among slips of parchment and vials of ink; it was messy and disorganized which was really out of character for someone like the Grand Master. Of all the years Altair has seen the master's workspace, it had always been clean and organized into piles, never as bad as this. Even on his worst days they weren't as torn and crumpled as they were now.

He cleared his throat. "Grand Master."

Al Mualim spun around, his hooded head still looking down at the book. "Hello, Altair. Just give me a moment to read this over." He sounded old and tired as he fingered the next page.

Altair absently glanced down at Fath, lightly gripping her hand. She was trying hard not to look around at...everything she could lay her eyes on, practically, as they waited for the master to finish his business. Her hand tightened around his and she squirmed in place, not used to staying in one spot for so long with nothing to say or do. Impatient himself, he tugged on her hood with a silent message for her to calm down.

Finally, Al Mualim set the book down on top of his desk of notes and slammed it closed, causing Fath to jump and grasp Altair's hand in fear. Something wasn't entirely right, but neither of them would dare ask at that moment.

"I apologize. Frustrating news just arrived from the Bureau in Damascus but…ah, Altair,who is this?" he asked, straightening himself.

"This is Fath, from Jerusalem. The child you asked me about during my last visit." Fath glanced up at him. Altair was talking so rigidly. Was she supposed to say something, or did he not want her to?

"Oh...yes, yes, I remember. Come child, let me get a look at you." he chimed, running a hand down his beard and making his way in front of his desk.

Cautiously, Fath took her hood and pushed it back.

The Grand Master took in her damp hair, the hazel eyes, and the features of her face, seeming to approve of something she didn't want to know about. "How old are you?" he asked, glancing from her to Altair.

"I'm nine, sir." Al Mualim took note of her obedience and respect towards authority as a good thing. He didn't see enough of that these days.

Altair's head snapped towards her and his eyebrows knit together. Now that he thought about it, she never told him her age…but she told him that she didn't know. The little liar.

Al Mualim nodded in approval. "Of course you are. How long have you known Altair and Malik, Fath?"

She stood there for a moment, her hands folded in front of her with her head bowed, contemplating. "I've known Altair for nine days and I've known Malik for seven." She said. Her voice was high and shaky.

The Grand Master nodded and started to pace around the room. "I heard that you originally lived on the streets when Altair found you. It must have been hard to get food and water. You're thin and malnourished, yet you tried to follow him up a building, and successfully climbed into the Bureau." A pause. "Is this all true?"

Fath nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. Altair found me and took me to see Malik. They gave me a name and when he took me back to where he found me on the streets, but farther, he left for another mission."

Al Mualim raised an eyebrow. Altair was so quiet, naturally. The thought of him picking up a child so unlike him was slightly unnerving. He was rather a quiet child growing up, only talking when spoken to.

She took a deep breath and continued, "But I didn't know how to get back into the Bureau without using the roof so I dropped in through there and sprained my ankle, I think, because it doesn't hurt like a sprained ankle should, but Altair got back and he was kind of mad at me..."

Altair wanted to shut her up. He wanted to do many things to her right now, but he felt the intense need to gag her.

"...and I got to eat breakfast with him and Malik and the novices." She stuttered.

The Grand Master tried not to interrupt her, but he found it impossible to even try to at the rate she was talking at. He could practically see the future trouble she'd get into, having to deal with so many others just like her. Altair being one of them. All of a sudden, she stopped talking to eye the master carefully.

"Why do you wear black robes?" Al Mualim laughed this time and walked forward to pat her head.

"My, you are one enthusiastic girl. Just as Malik had described." He turned away. "Altair," the Assassin looked up, "Do you not think it best to harbor this child under your wing whilst you are here?" he asked him, resting his hand on Fath's shoulder and turning her so that she was facing Altair.

Altair stumbled for an answer. It became clear of what the master had gained from everything he'd been presented about the girl and her abilities. He knew what was coming and he grimaced under the safety of his hood. "Master, I don't think it best to leave her in my care," he said.

Al Mualim raised an eyebrow from under his hood and dropped his hand. "No? Even after you went through all the trouble to bring her all the way here? What if I were to ask, ' Do you not think it best to harbor this child under your wing whilst you are undergoing your redemption'? What would you say then?"

Obviously, Altair thought, annoyed, his opinion didn't matter.

"Then it is settled. Fath, you will train with Altair when he is not working for me. You are now part of the Levantine Brotherhood as a fully recognized apprentice of the Order and you will work hard to fight for the goals of its people and members, do you understand?"

Fath nodded and practically radiated with happiness as her lips spread into a grin. "Thank you, master." She bowed.

"Altair, I expect you to gather her some...proper clothing," he gestured to her multiple tunics and oversized boots, "and you two will attend tonight's dinner. She is to live with you, being as young as she is. Do you understand?"

Altair nodded solemnly. "Safety and peace, Master."

"Safety and peace. Welcome to the Order, Fath." He gave her one last smile before he relieved them from his presence, walking around his desk and taking a seat to study once more. Altair took her hand and led her briskly out of the library, determined to escape before anything else unexpected happened.

* * *

_**AN: So, here were are. **_

_** What I wanted to tell you guys is: this July is NaNoWriMo and for those of you who don't know what that is, it's National Novel Writing Month. I'm going to work on this fanfiction and right now, I'm channeling all my energy into chapters. I'm even doing some back stories on all of the characters so watch out for those on my main page! OR just watch your email for updates if you **__**already follow me.**_

_** Hope everyone is having an awesome summer. Tell me about it in your review if you leave one! Reviews welcome, blah blah blah, now, I hope everybody has their AC cranked up :) New characters coming soon for this story, you'll like them, I hope.  
**_

_**Stay chill~.**_


	8. Chapter 8

**_Hey everyone! Read the AN down below, it'll have some info about future chapters. Big thanks to SpookieKitten for being my Beta for this story and chapter. Huuuuge thanks. _**

**_Enjoy this chapter!_**

* * *

Dinner was uneventful, more so because Altair and Fath ate together instead of with the rest of their brothers in the dining hall. Both of them thought that it might be a better idea to introduce her tomorrow and not so suddenly. So, instead, the two ate in Altair's room where he briefed her on the events tomorrow could hold.

Altair's room was the same size as everyone else's: Small. Every room was built to house two people, but since he lived alone, he got extra room. Nevertheless, it was still considered small. In the far left corner was his desk which he considered to be an organized mess, being littered with maps and detailed mission logs, quills, and books. His bed was in the top right corner of the room, opposite both the door and the window. Call it paranoia, but he thought he'd have a better chance at catching anyone who happened to sneak into his room sometime during the night if his bed was farther away from both points of entrance. The rest of the room was rather void spare for two large chests for clothes and miscellaneous items. He was surprised his room was as clean as it was.

"You're not part of the Order yet." he mused, taking a bite of stale bread.

Fath looked up from her bowl of soup, confused. What did he mean 'not part of the Order' yet? She frowned.

"But the old man-"

"Al Mualim."

"-said 'welcome to the order, Fath' didn't he?" Altair set his bowl down and let out an exasperated sigh, relaxing his muscles. He didn't realize how tired he was until now and if this was what it was like to raise a child, complete with all the questions and all the upkeep, then he'd be better off without such a burden. Though it'd be better to stop whining about the predicament. He wasn't going to get rid of her anytime soon.

"Yes, he did...but you have to go through a set of tests before you can join the other Novices." he explained. Instead of finishing the conversation, much to Altair's content, she nodded and continued to inhale her food.

Moments after she gave him her bowl, there was a knock at the door and Altair eyed it for a moment. Not many people visited him at this hour, let alone at all. Of course, he didn't mind; it was nice to bathe in the silence for once instead of arguing with politicians or informants. The only one who really came to his door was Al Mualim, but almost never for anything but to assign late night missions. It couldn't be the him so soon, right?

Fath watched him stand up and cross the room, about to open the door when-

"Altair! It seems my students do not fully understand what it is to-"

Altair's hand froze in mid-air and he thought better of opening it, so he went to lock it. The man on the other side forced it open anyways, laughing.

"No! Altair, I was just – no please do not close the door!" he shouted, flailing. Fath watched them from her spot on the floor, legs crossed, laughing. No matter how much Altair seemed to try, he couldn't keep that calm exterior up for too long.

"What do you want, Rauf?" He growled.

Rauf shut the door and sat down against the wall, taking one look at Fath and scrunching his face up in confusion. He lifted a hand and pointed at her, looking at Altair as if he didn't believe she was truly there. The Master Assassin just raised an eyebrow. If it meant prolonged silence, he'd continue to raise an eyebrow. Fath just waved.

"Did you recruit her?" Rauf finally asked, still eyeing her. Altair shrugged.

"You could say that." he sighed, taking a seat on his bed. Fath was watching them a little too intently, it seemed.

"Fath, this is Rauf. Rauf, Fath. Rauf is the training instructor for a rather large group of older novices." he sighed.

"You make it sound so dull, Altair." said Rauf.

"Maybe that's because it is." he replied. Fath crossed and uncrossed her legs, biting into her share of the stale bread.

"Hi, Rauf." She said. Rauf smiled at her then looked back to Altair.

"Where did you find her?" he asked.

"Jerusalem, on the streets." Rauf frowned and opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. He said soon after that there were too many people on the streets these days and that kids shouldn't be on the streets either, but he also said that they really couldn't do much about it. Fath listened to him talk about how cruel the world could be. On the other hand, Altair had heard it all before.

_Malik had told her back in Jerusalem about some of the things corrupt officials would do that the order would deal with. Things from corrupting the__minds of their people to other matters like slavery and population control. At the time, she wondered how people could think like that, but then he told her a little bit about the pieces of Eden._

_She didn't really listen too much to him at first until he mentioned that most of the officials did these horrible things because of these artifacts. With her attention captured, he gave her a quick synopsis._

_"If these officials know about these sort of things, why can't they control themselves?" she had asked him. He looked up from his quill and thought about it for a second._

_"Because they don't have a choice." He had told her._

_But she didn't understand how they could still fall for these things of power. It wasn't like they didn't know how corrupt they could become, and it's not like they didn't know about such power. Maybe if she found one she'd use it to wipe out these officials, but that would be wrong. Temptation is a bad thing, he'd told her._

_When she asked if he had one of the pieces with him, Malik had looked at her with an absolute serious expression. She'd never seen him so stern._

_"No, I don't, Fath, but if you yourself come across such a piece, you will not use it. Understand?" She promised him she wouldn't._

Close to midnight, Rauf stood up, rubbed the back of his neck, cracked his knuckles, and stretched his legs.

"Well, I will be going now. Early morning training tomorrow. Goodnight, Fath. Peace be with you, Altair." he said with a yawn before opening the door. Fath bid him goodnight and Altair remained silent as usual.

"I'm gonna go to bed now." she yawned, sluggishly climbing up next to Altair. For about the fifth time tonight, Altair raised an eyebrow.

"You are not sleeping here." he deadpanned. Tired and disheveled, she rolled off and onto the floor again where she settled for the pillow she'd sat on for dinner. Maybe she was lucky that it wasn't winter because with no blanket she'd probably freeze to death, literally.

"Night, Alty." she mumbled.

"Hngh."

Waking up in the morning was something Fath couldn't do, apparently, as he observed her early in the morning. Altair was used to getting up at set times in the day, sometimes before Master Al Mualim sent several novices to knock on everyone's doors. It was when he woke up and saw Fath with her limbs spread out and her face buried in her pillow he had to resist a laugh.

Carefully, he propped a foot under her stomach and rolled her over.

"Fath. Get up." he nudged her. She was still asleep. He tried again. After the third attempt failed, he made his way into the hallway dressed only his trousers to come back fifteen minutes later with a small pail of water from the garden behind the castle. He didn't show any hesitation when he turned it upside down over her.

There was a loud screech and she scrambled off the floor onto her feet.

"Altair!"

"Good morning." he drawled.

Fath used her hands to part the curtain of wet hair in front of her face.

"Why'd you do that?" she hissed. Funny, it reminded him of a soaked cat. Altair set the pail down and started pulling on his tunic and armor.

"We're going to go get you your own set of clothes today. You'll need something other than a dress if you're going to train like the others." Fath stopped glaring at him for a moment to give him a neutral nod.

"Now, get dressed." he ordered. The young girl sighed and started to dig through her rucksack. Then, there was a loud knock on the door; the novices were finally dispatched, it seemed. Altair pursed his lips and looked back to Fath, who had already dressed. As he yanked his boots on, Fath unpacked a few of the items she got from Jerusalem. All of her scrolls, quills, and ink vials were put on his desk.

When he was ready, he and Fath left his room and started for the village.

The castle was huge. On the outside, Fath thought it was grand, but the inside was immense. There were banners hanging from the rafters with the Assassin's logo, torches on the walls that were still lit, stone floors, large glass windows; and this was just one hallway. Turns out, the entire castle was made of hallways as they passed through more than a dozen on their descent. Though as beautiful as it was, it was caked with dust and Fath kept sneezing during their descent to the courtyard. She asked Altair if the novices had chores and he sighed, replying with:

"Even if they are given chores, it doesn't mean they are good at them."

Breakfast wouldn't be ready for a while, they knew; they had all the time to waste down in the village looking for suitable clothes and equipment for Fath. It sounded like a smooth trip, but already Altair was already losing patience. What a better way to spend the day but shopping? She'd bumped into more than a handful of people-guards included-not even on purpose. Day dreaming would get her killed in the field, eventually. That's another aspect to add to the list of future training possibilities, he thought. Altair pulled her behind him out of the way when she almost stumbled into yet _another_villager bringing supplies up to the castle.

She squeaked and fell forward right into the small of his back. Timidly looking over his shoulder, he yanked her back to his side after the civilians had passed and continued to ignore her. That's when he noticed the lack of sweat on her arm, let alone his own hand. It seemed that winter was coming quickly this year. The heat was dwindling faster than last year's weather, just yesterday it was sweltering, and the rain in Jerusalem convinced him. Everyone else must have realized it too since the piles of wood and clay pots were increasing. Both that and the decrease in everyone's mood. Winter was the time of the season where everyone in the village tried to stay in the village; there were fewer missions because of the heavy snow they got from time to time, training was harder, but the outcome was always great in the end, and winter meant more time inside with everyone else. Not only did the weather prove to be a problem, his recent fall down the rank of Assassins provided him with more than enough missions to last him a whole year, all of which he had already gone through. With the addition of training a new member, the lack of missions over the winter would be filled with all the training they'd have to go over and review. Fath would be at his side the entire time, unfortunately, but he's hoping that maybe Rauf, Kazim*, Tahir* or, hell, even that Iyad kid he's been hearing so much about would distract her. Speaking of Kazim and Tahir, he hadn't seen them since he'd returned. That reminded him to find the two twins later, that is, if they were still here.

"Um, Altair, where are we going?" Altair blinked and looked around. They taken a wrong turn. What was it he said about daydreaming?

"We took a wrong turn."

"We? But...I'm following _you_?"

"Quiet." He turned around and led them back up and around to the other side of the village, which was actually starting to pile with snow, where they came to a stop in front of a small clay brick house identical to the others, but surrounded with large clay pots _filled_ with different materials for sewing and weaving. Out front by the door, an elderly woman sat on the steps, watching. Altair walked forward with no hesitation, but Fath held herself back a little and made sure to stroll directly behind Altair.

"Elder Afya." she looked up and blinked. Elder Afya was old. Really old, and if he could remember correctly, she was around eighty-years-old. Her hair was ragged and gray, he clothes worn and stained with different kinds of dyes. Not to mention the wrinkles.

"I haven't seen you in ages, Altair. Not since you were a child. What do you want, and who is this child?" she asked. Fath pressed her lips into a thin line and remained hidden. The hooded Master Assassin looked down to his right side, then to his left; she wasn't there. Agitated, he sighed.

"Fath, say hello."

"Hello." she snipped, staying hidden. Afya scrunched her eyebrows and shakily rose from her spot, using the wall as a crutch.

"I don't know what bothers him so much, but come inside." she said as she opened the door for them. Did the old lady just call her a boy? She liked her name. Just because it was an...unusual name, that only made it more unique. And she _clearly_didn't look like a boy. Stupid old lady.

The inside of her house is old and dusty; the furniture was worn and anything leather had cracked with age. Inside, there were stacks of fabrics and more pots. In the farthest corner was a large stack of clothes; blankets, hats, socks, shirts, pants; there were more than a stack of every article of clothing, but several stacks of every finished article from the dark greens of shirts to light browns of leather pants. The floor was painted in different colors of dyes spilled over different periods of times that were left to dry. No rugs were on the floors, no chairs against the walls, and no tables, just cheap leather pillows. Altair didn't seem phased, but Fath was starting to ask herself why they were here again.

"Don't. Touch. Anything, you two. If anything shall break, you will be taking it back with you to the castle." Afya glowered. There didn't seem to be anything but pots to break. Altair shrugged off her warning anyways.

"We need regular clothing for a ten year old girl." he said, shifting his stance. Afya mumbled something under her breath and tried to get a look at Fath who was still struggling to conceal herself behind Altair's figure.

"Come here, boy." the older woman barked. When she didn't get a positive response, she straightened up and gave Altair a frustrated glare..

"What's wrong with him?" she asked, peering around him. With a small grunt, he stepped to the side and exposed his smaller counterpart, catching her off guard. Fath frowned and settled for crossing her arms while Afya scanned her over.

"I can see why you want new clothing." she sneered,looking taxed and...old when she walked. Well of course she was old, Fath thought. Old and blind apparently. There was a reason why she hated elders, the old in general, even if she knew she knew to respect them. However, most of the older men and woman she saw had people to carry on their work. Didn't this old one have an apprentice, someone to take over for her at this age? She couldn't help but feel a bit of admiration for her hard work, but it didn't change the fact that she already hated this old woman.

"Here." she pulled out a few shirts, tunics, sashes*, a single satchel, and pairs of knee-length hoses*, tossing them at Altair. He caught them and handed them to Fath who took them begrudgingly. She rubbed the fabric between her fingers and nodded her approval; maybe she was lucky that the old bat saw her as a boy.

"You didn't have to measure me?" Fath asked, holding one of the shirts in front of her. Afya snorted and came back with pairs of wool socks and long hoses*which Fath took rather cautiously.

"I have been doing this for fifty years, child. I can do this job better than anyone." she boasted, ruffling Fath's hair. The child cracked a small smile. Elderly men and woman creeped her out, but Afya was okay. A little tough, but she was funny. Back in Jerusalem, the elders would pinch your cheeks and nag. She didn't want to get old after seeing _that._

Afya peered at her through squinted eyes.

"You are too thin." she croaked. Suddenly, her hand shot out and grabbed Fath by the face, squeezing her cheeks to make her lips pucker out. Yes, this was something like the cheek pinching.

"You are too thin," she repeated, "Does Altair even feed you?" Altair's head snapped to the two of them, away from an assortment of pots in cabinets.

"She isn't my child." he said. Technically, it was true; she really wasn't. He was responsible for her, but she wasn't his daughter.

"Total shit!" the elder snorted. Altair decided he'd better cover Fath's ears at this point in time, it felt about time for a lecture. Without hearing anything, Fath watched them bicker from her level. She laughed when it seemed clear that Altair was losing the argument.

Minutes later, they paid for the clothing and left the small hut. Assassins and villagers alike were starting to rise for their morning ministrations whether it be fetching water or paying for a quick morning snack in the marketplace down by the west wall. Even about now, Master Assassins and maybe a handful of novices were actually starting to leave on missions before breakfast.

Fath stuffed her new clothes into her rucksack, barely able to make it fit, and Altair flipped his hood back up. As they climbed the slope back to the castle she tried to take his hand again. He snatched it away again, as usual. Fath frowned. After a few moments of silence, she asked,

"Altair, do you not like me?"

Altair pursed his lips, somewhat taken aback. He glanced down at her, then back at the road, silently conversing with himself on how to answer.

"I don't have any specific feelings, no." he finally grumbled. Fath rubbed the back of her neck and tried not to talk. Her effort was fruitless.

"But you talk to me like I'm a pest." she whined. While that was true, he didn't exactly think she was being fair with all of this. It wasn't even his decision to bring her back here! And if she was useful for anything Assassin-wise then he had yet to see it, no, he refused to count her stunt back at the Jerusalem Bureau. Perhaps the Master was just looking for a female role-model for the other students, or maybe he just wanted another student to harass other than the ones he had now. He did seem overly sincere the other day...and anyone above the rank of novice knew he liked to correct any and every slip up; really, he was that sadistic. There was that, and more than anything, his tactics were unexplained.

As Altair's thoughts and insecurities grew, so did his sense of confusion. Something about the Master wasn't right. None of his questions were answered, none of his missions explained, none of his fears silenced. Think, he told himself.

Fath looked up at him and back at the ground, then back at him again. Why wouldn't he look at her? She didn't understand. Was it because she was a child, that she can't understand him like an adult? Or does he just not like her at all? No, he does, she told herself. He's the one helping her with her training too, not just that Rauf guy, and he's the one who eats with her too. If that wasn't friendship, then what was? And this Iyad boy, what was his deal? She never even talked to him and he was quick to dismiss her. Why?

"Altair?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

"For?"

"For helping me get off the streets." she mumbled. Altair raised and eyebrow, but he didn't question it. She was right to be grateful.

"Don't mention it." he replied, ruffling her hair as they approached the gates. The guards nodded in greeting and let them pass. The training ring was packed with novices who had the urge to spar before breakfast; in the ring, the sound of clashing swords reached their ears. The one losing presently was a short boy around the age of 12 with brown hair, tan skin, and dark eyes, he was sort of pudgy around the face, but the early signs of muscle could be seen under his uniform.

The upholder in the fight was Iyad, the same kid around Fath's age with jet black hair, tan skin, and brown eyes. He was doing well with his footwork, but his guarding needed work, Altair observed. A common mistake among over achievers. They focus on their upper body more than their lower body. Such a shame sometimes.

Iyad swung his sword and knocked the older kid's arms to the side, he parried by swinging through and used the force of his hit to knock the boy's sword out of his hands. With a kick to his middle, Iyad sent the older boy to the ground and proceeded to point the weapon at his throat. Both of them were breathing hard by the end and the surrounding novices cheered and booed.

"Good try, Ashar. I'd stick to being a guard if I were you." Iyad sneered, sheathing his sword.

Fath watched with a little curiosity as Iyad stepped out of the ring, wiping sweat from his brow. She and Altair started towards the castle doors and so did he; Fath mustered up her courage and approached the boy.

"Hello." she said with a small smile. Iyad eyed her for a moment and adjusted the sleeves on his uniform with a sudden interest.

"What do you want?" she blinked. That was a tad malicious.

"I just wanted to say hi, and I thought you did good out there against...," she tried desperately to remember the name, "Ashar?" Iyad gave a small nod, running up the stairs towards the castle entrance. Altair watched him then glanced back to Fath; on her face was a look of happiness. At least he talked to her this time.

The room where everyone had their breakfast was grand, it stretched out to fit every Assassin stuck in the village. Everyone either sat against the wall or on the plush silk and cotton pillows. Long banners were hung from the rafters much like the ones from the halls, similar banners were hung on the walls. At the end of the room, the Grand Master was seated with a handful of scholars and Master Assassins. At this, Altair snorted. They were just the men who kissed up to the Master. Altair no longer felt such need to impress him, he'd already done that, and his finished pride no longer needed fueling from someone who refused to give him answers.

He led Fath to a smaller group along the left wall, composed of a smaller group of Master Assassins and instructors. He needed to find Tahir and Kazim. Immediately.

"Altair!" Rauf cried in greeting as the Master Assassin and child approached. Sitting next to him were a pair of twins, Master Assassins stuck together in birth and achievements.

"Hi Rauf!" Fath smiled, sitting down next to him. Altair took a seat on her left next to one of the twins, the one devouring his bread.

"Fath, this is Kazim," he gestured to the first twin to Rauf's right, "and Tahir." then to the twin to his left. She smiled and waved. Tahir returned the gesture, but Kazim refused to look up from the book he was buried in, not even bothering to say hello or even spare her a glance. He had no food, no drink, just his book. Tahir nudged his brother and shoved his hood down, revealing the matching brown hair.

"Kazim put your book down, say hello, and eat something." Kazim looked up at Tahir then at Fath.

"Oh, I'm sorry." he calmly said. Taking out a piece of twine decorated with colored beads, he saved the spot in his book and put it off to the side. Kazim's posture was rigid, unlike his brother's whose body was curled over his plate. Even his manners were clean cut. He gave Fath a small smile and said "Hello," before looking to Altair, smile fading, "Did you recruit her?" he asked. Altair nodded silently before getting up to stand in line for his and Fath's breakfast.

Tahir munched on his fruit noisily and Kazim winced.

"Can you try to eat a little quieter?" Tahir smirked and shook his head. The two twins looked exactly alike, no surprise there, but there was almost no difference between them; both of them had sandy brown hair and light brown eyes, tan skin and sharp features. It was almost impossible to distinguish the two if it weren't for their personalities. The tear on Tahir's left ear helped, though.

Kazim was quiet and chaste, always with a book it seemed while his brother was loud and exuberant and didn't know when to sit still or shut up. Kazim was the smarter of the two, but his skill with knives was poor while his brother was superb in long range combat. Tahir even carried his own crossbow that he brought back from his travels in Pakistan: Mongol territory. The Mongols were actually invading on their territory; even the Mongolian Brotherhood had talked to them about the imposing threats they'd face if they tried to get to Jerusalem. Tahir was often going off to investigate the activity for more than a few weeks, just in case, because Kazim hadn't been there as often as his twin had (as far as Altair knew) and he knew that he wasn't thrilled to go back, opposed to his twin who loved the was aware how Tahir tried to take as much time as he could that far away because his brother knew how much the quiet man hated the area. Altair knew that Tahir's selflessness tore Kazim apart. Since he knew both brothers since they came into the order, he could easily read them not to mention how he could tell them apart, but others had a lot of trouble telling them apart. Their looks were similar, not their personality, and Kazim constantly went out of his way to preach that with all the confusion.

There were many differences between the two if you just looked.

Kazim was a bit taller and less muscled than Tahir, and Tahir had more of a wild, natural look to him than Kazim, yet the two were always confused with. Not that either of them cared, of course.

"So what city did you meet Altair in, little one?" Kazim asked. Tahir gave a muffled cry of agreement.

"Jerusalem." she replied, relieving herself of her rucksack and setting it in her lap. Kazim nodded quickly before taking to stealing a strawberry from Tahir's plate. Tahir sent him a look of lesser indignation.

"'ey! 'ive 'at bwrahck." he complained, mouth full. Kazim popped it into his mouth and resumed his book, mumbling something about manners. Rauf snorted into his cup of tea. They were always great amusement, he thought.

Altair returned a few seconds later with two plates of fruits, oats, and bread, cups of herbal tea in his spare hand. He handed Fath her share and they proceeded to eat.

"Kazim, it's rare for you to be here. No missions?" Rauf asked. Kazim took a sip of his tea and looked up from his book.

"I know, and since it's so close to winter I suppose that Al Mualim thinks it best if I remain closer to home. Though, I'm sure I'll have to travel to one of the more distant cities anyways." he sighed. Tahir agreed.

"I'm not going east anytime soon either." he said.

"What's in the east?" Fath asked, nibbling on a slice of orange.

"In the east are a group called the Mongols headed by a man named Genghis Khan." said Kazim, as a matter of fact. He didn't even look up from his book this time.

"Al Mualim thinks they're pose as a smaller threat, but he wants us to look into it anyways. They're a growing army, I can see why." said Rauf.

"Except Al Mualim thinks everyone is a threat." Kazim mumbled and, thankfully, no one heard him.

"It's a wonderful place. Maybe you'll get to go there, Fath, when you get a little more into your training." Rauf continued.

"Don't get her hopes up," Altair quipped, "She still has to take the beginners test." Tahir snorted.

"What test? The Beginner's one? That's nothing! I'm sure she'll pass it if _you_ thought she was skilled enough, Altair, to mention her to the master." he scoffed. Altair rolled his eyes and thoughtfully took a bite of apple.

"Actually, the beginners test is meant more to test their determination, not their strength or stamina." Kazim added.

"Whatever, it wasn't hard for me."

"...Fath isn't you, Tahir."

"I was just saying, Kazim, lighten up!" he laughed while Kazim sighed and returned to his book.

Fath gave them a nervous laugh and rubbed at the back of her neck for the fourth time that morning.

"Nervous?" Rauf asked. She nodded, still rubbing her neck. Altair watched her, popping a piece of bread in his mouth.

"You'll train me, right Altair?" she asked.

"I'll attempt to. We'll start after this." he said, finishing off the last of his breakfast. Fath grinned and went for her rucksack, more than enthusiastic.

"You might not want to go to the training ring for quite some time, though." Kazim mumbled. She cocked her head to the side. It reminded them of a puppy.

"Why?"

"Because things get rough there. It's too much for you." he replied. Altair agreed.

Suddenly, Fath wasn't feeling so positive.

* * *

_***Tahir and Kazim are twins that will be entwined throughout the story.  
**_

_***Sashes were worn around the band and tucked into the waist. They look sort of like the red sashes you'd see on some of the guards in AC.**_

_***Hoses are a type of 12th century clothing that needed to be tailored to your specific size, shape, etc. It's like a type of pants and there are long and short hoses.**_

_**AN:**_ **_Alrighty, so, I'll be posting something called 'Life Events' or 'Life Chapters'. Basically, it's a whole life story on one of the OCs in Third Person Limited. I originally thought of doing one whole chapter being their entire life story, but that was too much (I already have 35,000 words typed up for Kazim's, haha xD) so my beta SpookieKitten suggested on posting it in sections. Look out for them, okay? It'll give you a new insight on the character's lives. One will be coming up soon. I'll be labeling them something other than 'Chapter six' or 'Chapter eight', so it'll be along the lines of 'Kazim Part 1, Chapter 8'. _**  
**_I hope you guys liked this chapter :D Leave a review so I know what you're thinking._**

**_Each favorite, follow, and review is so greatly appreciated. _**

**_Thank you for reading. _**  
**_Stay chill~_**


	9. Kazim Part 1

**_AN: So I hope you guys like this early chapter. I originally planned to upload it after chapter nine...but it's not quite ready yet and I haven't posted in a while so here is Kazim part 1!  
Today, I am officially one year older. I'm not particular about birthdays, but it was alright. Anyways, Here you are and I hope you enjoy._**

* * *

_Oo~ High dive into frozen waves where the past comes back to life ~oO_

_Fight fear for the selfish pain, it was worth it every time_

_Hold still right before we crash 'cause we both know how this ends_

_A clock ticks 'til it breaks your glass and I drown in you again_

_'Cause you are the piece of me I wish I didn't need_

_Oo~ Chasing relentlessly, still fight and I don't know why ~oO_

_Clarity, by Zedd._

_**~oO Kazim Oo~**_

_He was five years old._

And so was Tahir, his identical twin. Twin boys, their parents were as proud as they could be to have two sons. Boasting to neighbors, bringing the boys up in every conversation possible; it was as if no one had heard of them. The people in the village didn't mind, though; the brothers were more than entertaining. Well, at least one of them were.

Tahir was loud; loud and playful. He was the one with character, everyone said. Never did anyone kick him out, yell at him or tell him to get lost; he never got into fights because he was so positive and pretty much everyone loved him. Always play with the other kids in the village, he'd always get his chores done, and he always respected everyone. No one really hated him.

Except Kazim.

Kazim was the oldest brother by five minutes and he didn't cry at birth let alone move. His own parents thought he was dead. Maybe it was because the way his eyes were closed when he was expelled from his mother's body, or maybe it was because no one heard him breathe; no one saw him move a muscle. His parents were ready to give him up because they knew in an instant after he was born that there was another, Tahir. Instead of investigating their first son, his father handed him to their village elder, Mishal.

Mishal, a rapidly aging man, made Kazim feel something, talking to him was oddly relieving. If it weren't for the old man on several occasions, Kazim would have gone mad with rage because of the way people seemed to treat him in comparison to his younger brother. When he was born Mishal took him and made sure that he was alright. It turned out that Kazim was just naturally silent. Still, at least someone thought he was worth the attention. The old man took him under his wing and he'd always be grateful.

Both boys possessed the same sandy, light brown hair and brown eyes, but Kazim's eyes were slightly darker. Mishal told Kazim about how he could always tell them apart because of the difference of their eyes, but not by the shade of color. He told the older twin that his eyes were old, wise; Kazim didn't really believe in reincarnation, but it was a great story. He didn't want to ruin it.

While Kazim hated Tahir, Tahir didn't hate Kazim. He didn't even know how Kazim felt because of how distant they tended to be. Not that he ever asked what was wrong, no. The younger brother loved Kazim, too _much_ sometimes. How _dense _did you have to be to love so blindly?

At five years old, Kazim was known as 'Tahir's older brother' and not just 'Kazim'. So he was a quiet child, he didn't mind it; being silent meant that he wouldn't have to deal with conversation. Except what he did mind were his parents.

"Kazim, are you studying?" Kazim raised his head from the papers on his desk and set his quill down.

She was a thin woman with sunken cheeks and frail arms; her hair was a faded light brown like her sons' and her eyes were hazel. They got their brown eyes from their father. She wasn't exactly a tall woman, but if she resembled anything, it was a skeleton. The brown locks that decorated his face were in a desperate need of cutting, but he never seemed to get around to it. Besides, the blade he used for his hair had disappeared from its drawer months ago. For a five year old boy, he was surprisingly capable.

"Yes, mom." he'd smile as he'd held up his work. Maybe this time she's see how much work he had put into his studies. One could hope, right?

She'd snatch it from his hands and barely glance it over. He didn't mind if she did, but at the same time, he wanted her to smile at him and tell him that he was going to become a great scribe someday like any other mother would; he wanted her to compliment his practicing how to spell, his dedication to learning, and his passion for literature. If he wasn't trying hard enough, he wanted her to tell him so he could work harder to please her and not just pass him by. But as her eyes would skim the page, he could feel his optimism drain away like water on a hot day. Finally, she'd just hand it back to him and say something like, 'Your handwriting needs work' or 'stop smearing the ink' and sometimes 'Why don't you just give up now while you still can?' She would sigh and say 'Your handwriting is still hideous' at the end of everything and walk out with an irritated huff.

Disappointed, Kazim took the paper and continued with his work while, outside, Tahir was too busy talking with the neighbors to study or read. What really put him down, though, was the fact that Tahir was never bugged to do anything like he was. And while he watched his younger brother from the window playing with boys their age, he wondered, 'Why did he care?' That's just it though, because he shouldn't.

Constantly inside, Kazim took to the charismatic men and woman in the biographies and in the children's stories he found so little of in his father's study. The collection of books in his room were from Mishal's private collection, but the old man was kind enough to share. Adventure, knowledge, passion; he took it all in and purged it to anyone he could, whether they wanted to listen or not.

"I've read about this one," he said one afternoon. Tahir had taken him outside to play with his friends because he thought he didn't get out enough, "It's a Jasmine plant. If you eat the berries, it'll disturb your digestive system and I think, _I think_, that the book said it was fatal. But the smell that the blossom gives off is great for incense!" That was the last time Tahir's friend let Kazim play with them.

_He was six. _

**Oo~~oO**

His father wasn't as harsh as his mother, but he was extremely strict. If his son wasn't reading, he made sure he was studying, and if he wasn't studying, he made sure he was reading. If he was doing anything else, he'd ask him why he wasn't studying. Out of sight, out of mind was probably what he was probably trying to put into motion.

"Kazim, I need your help with chores." He said one day. Kazim quickly put his books away and ran to his father's side. He led them to their animal pen across the house where their pigs and sheep were being held.

"I need you to get in there and shear a few of the sheep while I take care of the pigs." He explained, moving towards the front of the to the side, Tahir was watching for predators. Kazim glared in his direction. He hated his brother, though he was ashamed of admitting it. But who got all the attention? Not Kazim. Who got all the praise? Again, not him. Tahir was the spoiled one; he strived to do better than his twin all the time, but nothing was good enough. No matter what he did.

But now, his father trusted him with his sheep! This was a large step; his father's sheep, the things he took care of the most was now in his care _and_ much better job than being a guard. Tahir must be jealous, he mused.

His father handed him a pair of old sheers, a large woven basket, and a look that screamed 'don't mess up' before sending him off towards the fields out back. He climbed over the gate and tried to contain himself so he wouldn't scare the animals. So while he slowly approached one of the mother sheep, he gave low, soft, coos. She bleated at his arrival. She allowed him to stroke her head and leant into his touch while her lamb clumsily ran around her legs, asking for attention. Animals…he liked them. If not more than books then just as much. There was nothing more beautiful than a baby animal; nothing was more loyal than a pet. When lamb stumbled into his legs and looked up at him, Kazim just _had_ to stop his work. It looked up at him with big brown eyes, flicked its tongue out at him, and gave a long, lonely cry.

_Cute._

Kazim smiled softly and stroked its' fuzzy head before returning to work. It only took about fifteen minutes to clear her of the scratchy material, but the basket was _barely_ full. No complaining, though.

An hour in and his father came to check on him.

"Am I doing it right?" Kazim questioned. His father nodded, stoically ruffling his hair.

"You're doing well, keep going until that basket is full and come back." he replied, already returning to the house. Kazim was practically beaming with pride. A job and compliment from his father? Almost unheard of…today was starting to look up. That is…until Tahir ran up, sword in hand, grinning.

"Hey, Kazim! Look!" The older brother glanced up from his work and watched his brother swing the weapon. It look horrendous—he had no skill with the weapon! And how did he get it anyways? Wasn't that from his father's workshop?

"Tahir!" Kazim scolded, "Stop doing that! You're going to hurt..." Tahir shot his brother a smug look, as if he believed that he was immune, but as he twirled the sword in a mock figure eight, his grip faltered; he swung it in a low arc, preparing to thrust forward when, in a moment of hesitation, the sword dropped from his hand. Tahir cried out and his brother's eyes slowly widened. The sword had slammed down on his leg, "...yourself—FATHER!" Kazim yelled, dropping the basket and sprinting towards the house. "Tahir, stay there!" he yelled, running across the dirt path while his brother wailed. How could his brother be so stupid? No, it wasn't Tahir's fault was it? Kazim adored the stainless metal too, he would have done the same thing…but no, he would have been far more careful about it! How could _he _be so stupid to leave his younger brother alone with something like that?

As he ran, he wondered what his parents would say. Would they beat him for being so stupid? Would they wonder why he let his brother play with a sword? Would they ask if Kazim gave his brother the sword? Accuse him? Blame him? They couldn't do that, could they? He told him not to and his brother did it anyways! But then he saw it, the truth: it wasn't _his _fault, no, it was Tahir's...but it wasn't likely that his parents would see it that way.

He silenced the negative thoughts plaguing his head before they ventured any further and burst through the front door of their small house, swinging around wildly looking for their father, their mother, anyone who'd be around. Maybe he should have headed for Mishal.

"Father!" He yelled. There was a resounding sound of acknowledgment from the back rooms. Kazim quickly made his way through the hallway and didn't stop opening doors until he found his father in the study. The older man gave a heavy sigh.

"Kazim, you know better than to shout—"

"Father! Tahir's been hurt!" he sobbed hysterically.

"What?" His father quickly stood up and made his way around his cluttered work area and pushed past Kazim who followed in suit.

Back by the animals, Tahir had collapsed to the ground and started holding his leg, howling in pain. When Kazim and their father arrived, Kazim took off his shirt and wrapped it around the wound. He remembered that in one of his books, he read that wounds needed pressure and cleaning and that, depending on the width and depth of the cut, sometimes needed to be sewn closed.

"Help me move him." his father instructed, moving to lift Tahir's upper body while Kazim moved to get under his legs. A pain filled cry ripped from Tahir's throat when they lifted him from the ground.

**Oo~~~oO**

"It's okay, Tahir." Kazim cooed, as he finished bandaging the appendage. The younger brother ended up with no stitches in his calf, but he did have to stay in bed for weeks; after the extreme pain his brother had to go through, it was like a blessing to see him pass out halfway through. Kazim ended up doing all the chores with father for those weeks Tahir was too sick to stay mobile and in all the free time he had he wound up looking for medicinal herbs to use on Tahir's leg. He didn't want it getting infected. In addition to possible infection, Tahir was showing signs of a fever. All the more reason to help his brother.

But in all this time, his mother and father didn't stop criticizing him the entire time he worked. They said that he needed to work harder in the field of crops—that he needed to change Tahir's bandages more often, that he spent so much time outside he didn't study as much as he should have. If only they knew that he was searching for medicine for his twin, he wouldn't be yelled at nearly as much. He'd tried to tell them before, but it did him no good. _Besides_, he thought with a bitter smile, _who would believe someone who let their younger brother play with a sword?_

One afternoon, he went out searching for medicinal herbs and came back with his arms full of leaves and roots. . His mother was in front of the house looking positively furious. Kazim spotted her yards away, arms crossed, foot tapping.

"Where have you been?" she asked. Kazim held his arms out for emphasis and his mother watched some of the leaves fall to the ground.

"Tending to the garden I hope, because you were supposed to change Tahir's bandages long ago!" she growled. Kazim groaned. He forgot about that and the garden.

"I was just-"

"Throwing those away? I hope so."

"No, mother, these are herbs for Tahir."

"So you're trying to poison him?"

"What? No!" He was appalled,"I'm trying to help him!" he cried. That's when his mother sneered and frankly, that frightened him.

"You say you're trying to help him but you've been nothing but a problem to all of us this entire time,"_ What?_ "And how would you know about all these herbs? From your reading? Your studying? You're nothing but a child," Kazim's arms tightened around his bundle of plants. Where was all this coming from? Repressed anger was slowly building up inside of him with every word she spat in his face, his eyebrows knitting closer and closer together, "It'd be better if you weren't here to take up space." _No. _Kazim threw the herbs down around his feet and clenched his hands; his face flushed dark red, spreading from his ears and down his neck. Sharp vocabulary laced with harsh sounds were dancing around his tongue, begging him to let them free and that's exactly what he did.

"And I call you my _**mother**_?" he yelled, mocking, "Here I am trying to help my brother and look at_ you! _berating me and preventing me from helping. And where have _you_ been anyways? You weren't the one who fed him, no, father did that! I changed his bandages and you never assisted in anything!" He took a few steps forward, crushing the plants below his feet, "I study and I keep quiet because it was _you _and _father _who told me to shut up and do as you instructed. I read because I enjoy it and not that it matters since nothing pleases you!" his mother was starting to back up now, but her face was turning an equal shade of red. Kazim was finally speaking his mind; he wasn't going to be quiet anymore.

"No longer will I try to please you, I will please the people who matter to _me _and guess what, _mother_," the endearment dripped with hostility and spite, "The only good thing you did for me that was worth _anything _was make me study. Do you have any idea why that is?" he pointed a finger at her, "Because _now, _I am smarter than you and father _combined_." he hissed. This was the first time he showed even a touch of narcissism. Not even a second after the last word left his mouth she raised a hand and struck his cheek, fury plain as day written on her face. His head jerked to the side and a small whine shuddered from his throat. Did she just...hit him?

Kazim stood up straight and the thought of retaliating crossed his mind, but he fought against it. His face returned back to its regular shade of tan except for the soft, red outlining of his mother's hand on his left cheek.

He thought about retaliating, about taking the chance to return the favor and hit her back for all the times when he was younger when she left him crying, wondering why she and father didn't love him like they loved his younger brother. It wouldn't take much, just one step forward and 'WHAM'. But, no, he couldn't do that; he wouldn't stoop to their level. He took a step back for good measure and crushed the rest of his herbs. His mother allowed herself look smug. Kazim thought that she couldn't possess a more fitting expression.

"Don't you ever disrespect me again. I have half a mind to put you on the streets." she snapped. Well, they did. Turns out, his father was listening from the window and when he came out of hiding he looked just as livid as his mother...they told him to get out, that they wouldn't stand to have a traitor to his family laying around.

So he packed a bag of necessities and left, not bothering to say goodbye to Tahir. He couldn't. His brother wouldn't have even gotten a word out with his fever anyways. Even if Kazim wouldn't admit it, he felt as if his heart was splitting in two as he approached the village gates.

_He was thirteen._

* * *

_**AN: Leave me some feedback! Did you like this chapter, do you like the story, what do you think, etc. Feedback is appreciated! **_

**_I go back to school on September 3rd so chapters might be slower but I will sincerely finish this. I might start other fanfictions on the way, but that doesn't mean I won't finish this one. Hope you all had a nice summer! :) [Good lord it's so  
_**

_**Stay Chill~.** _


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